The Phantom of the Opera: The Way it Should Be
by ohiansomerhalder
Summary: Everyone knows that Raoul shouldn't have gotten Christine in the end. This is how it should have went. It stays true to the movie up until after Christine and Raoul leave. First 2 chapters take place starting with Don Juan.
1. Chapter 1: Past the Point of No Return

**Disclaimer!: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or anything in relation to it! I'm open to any suggestions for this story or another!**

Chapter 1: Past The Point of No Return

I paced back and forth, passing away the hour I had remaining until I would make my stage appearance during my own opera, Don Juan_ Triumphant_. I removed my white mask and set it upon my organ before reaching for the black mask I was to wear.

I contemplated my plan. I planned on this all to play out the way it currently was. I smiled at the part I was to play. Don Juan was intended to be a seducer. And I intended to seduce my Angel out of the betrayal they were plotting. A perfect match. Unlike that ham of a man, Piangi.

I listened as the last note rang out through my dungeon. It was time. I grabbed the prepared noose I had created to strangle the fat lard currently playing my role. I had taken the passageway behind a mirror to a room backstage that many did not use. I exited the room cautiously and hid, waiting for the right moment to approach Piangi.

I listened to the pompous fool struggle with his part and slaughter it before he appeared behind the set. I approached him silently and prepared my lasso.

"Bravo, monsieur." I whispered in his ear before squeezing the rope tight around his neck, blocking his airway. His shaking body fell to the floor as he struggled to try and loosen the knot. I listened to Christine's angelic singing before I left the man to silently die. I turned to take the stage, concealing my face with my cape.

"Master?"

That was my cue. I walked out of the tent prop serving as a bedroom and approached the man playing Passarino.

"Passarino—Go away for the trap it is set and waits for its prey." I sang, glancing in my Angel's direction. She was picking at a rose.

I lowered my cape and walked away from the tent towards Christine.

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent," She glanced at me over her shoulder and I put my finger to my lips. "Silent."

Her heart faltered slightly and she turned away once more and glanced up at Box 3 - at her lover, the Viscount, before turning slightly to face me. I surfaced all of the passion and intensity my soul held and tried influencing her a little more with the sound of my voice.

"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge."

She closed her eyes. I felt her lowering the mental wall around her mind, for she couldn't resist me.

"In your mind you've already succumbed to me," I flipped my cape back out of my way so it flowed behind me as I walked out into the open stage. "Dropped all defenses completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me. No second thoughts."

She turned completely and looked at me. "You've decided…"

I flipped my cape once more, just for effect this time. "Decided…" She had a slight look of awe on her face as she stood up and observed me.

I slowly walked towards her as she stood, frozen, the look of awe still plastered on her face. "Past the point of no return – no backward glances. All games of make believe are at an end."

I closed my eyes briefly before looking back at her. I had reached her and started to walk circles around her as if stalking my prey. I chuckled to myself at my metaphor.

"Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'." I noticed the straps of her dress kept sliding off her shoulders. I felt a strange jump in the pit of my stomach every time they fell. "No use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend."

"What raging fire shall flood the soul?" I sang a little more intensely, trying to lure her in once more. I was now behind her, holding her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned into me. "What rich desire unlocks its door?" I lowered my voice slightly and sang with a more seducing tone, slowly increasing in intensity. I trailed my hand down her jaw and her neck to her shoulder and then, with both of my hands, I slowly caressed down her arm to her hand, watching my hands as they maneuvered down the contours of her arm. "What sweet seduction lies before us?" I looked up her arm to her face.

"Past the point of no return – the final threshold." I held her hand and walked backwards, pulling her along with me. "What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn," Her hand slipped out of mine and it fell limply to her side. "Beyond the point of no return."

She started to walk away from me. I feared she wouldn't sing to me in return. That she would turn and run from me. She looked from me to the audience. Then she looked up again at that fool, the Viscount. I followed her gaze and shot a glare up to him, seeing him scoot to the edge of his seat.

"You have brought me," she shifted her glance between the audience and Raoul. "To that moment where words run dry." I looked up once more and caught sight of the officer standing in the box with the Viscount. _They have never stopped me before. _"To that moment where speech disappears into silence..." I sensed anxiety coming from the workers of the theatre, the managers scrambling to find more guards. "Silence." She walked a little further away from me.

"I have come here. Hardly knowing the reason why." She shuffled a little more and closed her eyes briefly, her eyelids fluttering. Her damn sleeve fell again. "In my mind I've already imagined," she looked at me passionately. "Our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent." Her other sleeve fell. She stopped trying to pull them back into place and it was killing me. She faced me head on, her eyes searing into mine. I had to inhale deeply to keep my heart beating. She was so breath taking. I looked her over, from head to toe. "And now I am here with you – no second thoughts." She smiled. "I've decided…" She started nodding, slightly. "Decided…"

I inhaled again, leaning my head backwards. She was trying to seduce me. And it was working. I felt defenseless and vulnerable. All I could think of was the two of us. She started to walk to the staircase on her side of the stage. I follow suit, retreating to mine. Although, I never took my eyes off of her. The whole time she continued to sing to me.

"Past the point of no return – no going back now: our passion play has now, at last, begun." My breathing deepened. I was drowning in HER voice for once. I had completely forgotten that she was surely planning to betray me. "Past all thought of right or wrong – one final question:" she stopped climbing. My body stopped as well, reacting to hers. She leaned towards me, her voice carrying across the stage to me as she cried out. "How long should we to wait before we're one?"

We both start climbing again, our eyes never leaving each other's faces. "When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom?" We had both reached the top, nothing separating us now except for air. We both paused.

"When will the flames at last consume us?" I never knew her voice held such ferocity. We had never gotten to intensity in her lessons. It gave me goose bumps and my stomach continued to do flips inside my body.

We started towards each other, singing in a duet now.

I threw my cape off, not caring where it landed. "Past the point of no return! The final threshold!" She was finally in my reach. We quickly closed the distance between us, grabbing each other's waist. I spun her around so her back was against the front of me. I desperately held her close to me, not wanting this to end. My hands were on top of hers as they explored the front of her body. "The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn!" I guided her hand up and over her chest, my stomach flipping more frantically and my breath catching in my throat, and up to her neck. "We've past the point of no return…"

Our singing ceased as the music continued softly. I inhaled deeply again, the smell of her hair engulfing me. I lifted my hand slightly to barely caress her cheek. I leaned closer to her ear and sang softly.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime." My other hand reached up and slowly caressed her other cheek. My hands caressed not only her cheeks but also, slowly going down her neck and her shoulders, brushing my fingers over her skin.

"Lead me, save me from my solitude." I left one hand on her collarbone as the other combed through her tightly twisted hair. "Say you'll need me with you here, beside you…" Her eyes, which had been closed, opened as she snapped out of her seduced trance. She started to turn and look at me and I back away slightly so she could turn and face me completely. I cupped her delicate little hand in mine. "Anywhere you go, let me go too…" She looked at me somberly and sadly. She reached up and placed her hand on my cheek and I placed mine over her heart.

"Christine," she smiled and a few tears escaped her eyes. "That's all I ask of -- !"

Suddenly, she tucked one finger under my mask and tore it off my face, the right side of my face revealed to the whole Opera House. Many screams and gasps erupted in my ears, but I still couldn't take my face away from her. I was speechless. How could she?! I was fuming. She looked at me sadly but I felt no pity for her anymore.

I looked away and glanced at the chandelier and then to the police all around, arming themselves, with a haughty expression on my face. I pulled Christine close to me, feeling her tense in shock and fear. _Good. It was about time she knew her place_.

I cut the red rope, that appeared to just be a prop, and released the chandelier, letting it free fall. The chains ripped through the beautifully painted ceiling as it plummeted to the stage. I kicked the lever next to my foot, releasing the trap door.

As we fell I heard many gunshots and screams. I could hear the glass tinkling on the chandelier. I made sure to put the impact all on me, holding Christine so she wouldn't feel any of it.

My knees protested and I almost lost my footing as we hit the stone floor. Before the trap door closed, a plume of flames erupted over it and a large explosion echoed through the corridors. My work was complete.


	2. Chapter 2: Betrayed

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Phantom! On to Chapter 2!**

Chapter 2: Betrayed

Screams still echoed around us as I pulled Christine behind me. I could feel her stumble and trip. One time she did fall, scraping her knee. I felt a stab of remorse but passed over it, remembering the plan I still had left to put into action. We reached a set of stairs and I tugged on her arm, forcing her to hurry.

"Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!" Every now and then I glanced back to see her expression. Only fear was plastered on her face now. "Down once more into darkness deep as hell!"

I paused to turn and almost lashed out at her like I had the first time she removed my mask. "Why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place?!" I tugged her again and paused once more, turning fiercely again. "Not for any mortal sin but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!!" I yelled in her face, causing more fear to creep into her.

We reached my lair and I pulled her into my arms. She struggled to escape my grasp but did not prevail. I pulled her, my arm around her, to where my mannequin sporting the wedding dress was. "Hounded out by everyone! Met with hatred everywhere!" We stood in the doorway in front of the mannequin and I put my hands on her shoulders. I forced back tears. "No kind words from anyone! No compassion anywhere!" My hand made its way to the back of her neck, entwining with her hair. "Christine…" I looked down into her eyes, my breathing labored. "Why?" She looked up at me, scared and helpless. I shook her slightly. "Why?!"

I yanked the dress off of the mannequin and threw it at her. She looked at me then at the dress in her hands. She slunk away to change and I went to dig for the ring I had yanked off her neck during the Masquerade ball. I held it in my fingers, examining it.

"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?"

I heard Christine's approach and looked up.

"Am I now to be prey, to your lust for flesh?" I turned my head and shifted my body to look at her, a demented smile crossing my face. She was gorgeous.

She was approaching me quickly, seething. I turned to face her completely. She didn't understand. I lusted for murder for a reason…

"This fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood," I approached her, trying to stifle my rage. I closed the distance between us. "Has also denied me the joys of the flesh." I reached up to touch her cheek and she turned from me, adding to my pain. I felt the tears coming. It wouldn't be long now.

"This face – the infection, which poisons our love…" I looked at the back of her head. She turned around to look at me. My voice softened as my anger slowly seeped away, replaced with pain in remembering my past.

"This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing." I walked over to the mannequin, grabbing the veil off of it. Christine was looking away once again. I looked down at the delicate material in my hands, . "A mask – my first unfeeling scrap of clothing." I forced it on her head. "Pity comes too late!" I grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face me. "Turn around and face your fate! An eternity of THIS before your eyes…" I pulled her hand forward and placed the ring in her palm and closed her fingers around it. She looked up at me before walking past me, pulling the veil off of her head. She walked over to a mirror and started to pulled the curtain off of it.

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now." I watched her from my position where I was previously standing.

"It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…" I lowered my head, closing my eyes to avoid tears. I heard splashing in the water outside of the portcullis. I looked up and saw that pompous moron. "Wait!" I turned and looked at her, a grin upon my face. "I think my dear, we have a guest!" I turned back to look at him. She ran down to the edge of the lake. Towards him… "Raoul!"

"Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight!" I climbed a staircase to where I could overlook the lake. "I had rather hoped that you would come!" I retreated down the stairs to where Christine stood and pulled her close to me. She gasped. "And now my wish comes true – you have truly made my night!"

"Let me go!" she whispered loudly.

"Free her! Do what you like only free her! Have you no pity?" Raoul shouted across the lake.

I tossed Christine to the side, a smirk on my face. This is going to be fun. I looked at her. "Your lover makes a passionate plea." I spat bitterly.

She gazed at him. "Please, Raoul, it's useless!"

"I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her!" I turned my back to the bumbling idiot. "Show some compassion!"

"The world showed no compassion to me!!!" I yelled, rounding on him.

"Christine, Christine let me see her." He cried.

I moved to the lever to open the gate. "Be my guest, sir." I pushed it forward, and then walked back towards the lake, continuing into it. "Monsieur, I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm her?" I spread my arms in a threatening kind of way. I was up to my thighs in the water. "Why would I make her pay," I advanced on him more, turning to gesture towards Christine. The gate was quietly closing behind him. He didn't realize he was trapped until he heard the loud clang. "For the sins, which are yours?!" I reached down into the water and threw a rope around him, pushing him to the gate, tying his hands to it. "Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now except perhaps Christine!" The boy looked my distorted face fearfully.

I walked back towards Christine. "Start a new life with me. Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you'll send your lover to his grave!" I was gesturing furiously at Raoul. Christine looked distraught. "This is the choice – this is the point of no return!" She was crying uncontrollably.

"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate…" I fought furiously to catch my breath while Christine sang. "Grow cold and turn to tears of hate!"

I walked back to shore again, pain and anger propelling me forward.

"Christine, forgive me. Please, forgive me!" Raoul begged.

I blocked out their duet as I grabbed my famous punjab lasso. I walked back towards Raoul pausing to look at Christine. She continued to sing.

"Too late for turning back! Too late for useless prayers and pity." I turned away form her and trudged into the lake. I heard her follow quickly behind me. "All hopes and cries for help – No point in fighting!" I reached him and threw the loop around his neck.

"For either way you choose you cannot win!" Rage burned in me as he sang with me. I tightened the rope around his neck. I looped the end through a rung in the gate and pulled it tight. "So do you end your days with me? Or do you send him to his GRAVE?" I pulled the rope tighter, lifting him out of the water slightly.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" he shouted at me. I walked away from him, clutching the rope tightly in my hands as I went to stand closer to her. I yanked once on the rope, an expression of pain on his face again.

The three of us sang in unison. While I could hear Christine, I tried my best to block out the man hanging on my portcullis.

"Past the point of no return! The final threshold! His life is now the prize, which you must earn!" Raoul finally stopped singing, leaving Christine and I to a short duet.

"You've past the point of no return…"

"Angel of Music, you deceived me…" she sang. She looked at me painfully, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I gave you my mind blindly." She spoke.

"You have tried my patience." My fingers tightened on the rope. "Make your choice." I yanked on it, Raoul's face slightly turning purple.

She looked at him and then at me. "Pitiful creature of darkness…" She started towards me. "What kind of life have you known?"

I felt my grip on the rope loosen but not relax. She walked through the water towards me, the beautiful wedding dress pooling around her. "God give me courage to show you… You are not alone!" I saw her slip the ring I gave her on her finger. My heart raced. She reached up and put her hand on my shoulder before closing the distance between us, pressing her lips to mine.

All the tears I had suppressed now started to slowly break loose. Our lips crushed against each other and her hand trailed to my cheek before she pulled away to look into my eyes. My tears continued to fall as I started to breath more heavily, never fully haven caught my breath. I longed for her lips again. I looked down into her eyes, noting the tear streaks on her cheeks. Before I could observe her features anymore, she pressed her lips to mine more fiercely than before, craving more. I started shaking. I had never felt this way before. I forgot the world. I forgot my past as my Angel flooded my mind.

Her hand caressed my distorted cheek. She slowly pulled away once more, looking from my eyes to my lips. I scrunched up my face to try and stop the tears. I breathed heavily as a small smile crept to her lips and then to mine. I wasn't sure if I was smiling or trying to stop from sobbing. I closed my eyes, feeling defeated, and shook my head. No, she wasn't choosing me, I realized. She did it for him…

When I finally could look up at her again, I heard the mob. I knew it was eminent. "Track down this murderer! He must be found!" I turned my head to the side and started to walk away.

"Take her – forget me – forget all of this…" My hand still reached out to her as I walked away from her and out of the water. She continued to watch me. I turned my head away from her. "Leave me alone –" She turned and ran to her lover. I turned back to glance at her. "Forget all you've seen." I faced the direction I was headed but turned again. "Don't let them find you!"

She was undoing the lasso around his neck and untying him.

"Take the boat – swear to me never to tell…" I scaled the steps to my organ, taking two or three steps at a time. "The secrets you know of the angel in Hell!" I turned to face my organ and heard the voices closing in. I turned back to face the embracing couple.

"Go now! Go now and leave me!" I turned back to go into my bedroom. I grabbed the music box off of the trunk it sat on. I sat down on the edge of my swan bed and wound it up. The little monkey chimed its cymbals together as the music started to play. I watched it. It truly was a horrid thing, that monkey. It reminded me of the gypsies' trained monkey that would not only collect the money throw at me, but it would pick pocket unsuspecting visitors as well. It smiled devilishly back at me. The tears started to flow easily down my cheeks.

"Masquerade… Paper faces on parade…" I sang so quietly it was almost a whisper. "Masquerade… Hide your face so the world will never find you…" The words' meaning stabbed at my heart, pain echoing through my soul. Nothing had changed. I was still a monster and just as hideous. The music box wound down and the music faded.

I sobbed quietly and caught a glimpse of the angelic beauty standing in the corner.

I looked up at her, pain apparent on my face now. "Christine I love you…"

She stood in place, looking at me uncomfortably. My heart sunk. She was reaching up and playing distracted with the ring on her ring finger. I looked from her face to her hand and my expression sunk as well. I now knew of her intentions. She started walking towards me.

She stopped in front of me and continued playing with the ring. She looked up at me and I looked down at her hand. She pulled it off… I looked up at her face as she started to reach out, handing me the ring. I looked down as her hand grasped mine gently and she placed the ring into the palm of my hand and closed my fingers around it, her fingers lingering around my hand.

I looked up at her, still in shock from all the betrayal and hurt I was receiving tonight. She looked upset. She started to turn, still looking at me and holding my hand until her arm could reach no more and she slowly let her arm drop. She turned her head away from me and walked away. I watched her leave, holding the ring tightly in my hand.

My lips started to tremble.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime." she sang.

I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. A tear trickled down my cheek as I took in a shaky breath.

"Say the word and I will follow you." I bit my lip as the Viscount sang to her.

The two sang in a duet, both madly in love. I stood up to watch them go and walked to the edge of the lake once more. He was rowing them away in my boat.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning." She glanced back at me.

"You alone can make my song take flight…" I felt a twinge of anger well up in me again. I started to walk towards my row of mirrors. I grabbed a candelabra on the way. I came to stand in front of one of them, staring at my distorted reflection.

"It's over now the music of the night!" I smashed the mirror with all of my might, over and over again until it was nothing but cracks.

I moved on to the next one and proceeded to smash it in as well. I never wanted to have to see what ruined our love. I continued to the last one and swept the curtain away from it. I looked into it and scowled before smashing the mirror where my face was hideously scowling back at me, tormenting and teasing me. I continued to chop away at it until the mirror broke through, revealing one of my secret passageways. I took one last look at where my love had disappeared before taking a step into it, dropping the candelabra and closing the curtain…

All that matter was gone. My life as I knew it was over…

**Author's Note: Sorry the chapters are so short. I promise I will try to add a new chapter every day. I have a lot more written, I just haven't proof read it all yet. Chapter 3 will be up tomorrow!!! Next chapter goes off from the movie! Yay!**


	3. Chapter 3: No One Would Listen

**Author's Note: I'm possibly going to upload Chapter 4 later tonight, just proof reading it right now. Hope you like this Chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. Here's Chapter 3!**

Chapter 3: No One Would Listen

I sat, alone in the passageway, waiting for the mob to pass. I could hear them, slowing, noticing that I wasn't there.

Sounds of concern and confusion echoed through the empty cavern. I wrapped my arms around my knees and lay my head down on them. I had stopped crying. I felt numb now, which I found to be much more pleasant than pain and hurt.

My head shot up as I heard the curtain in front of the entrance open. I jumped to my feet, ready to defend myself.

"Erik, it is only I." A female voice whispered.

Madame Giry was walking towards me, hands raised in front of her. I sighed and slumped against the wall, sliding down until I hit the ground. My legs were sprawled out in front of me.

"I'm so sorry, Erik. You knew she loved him. Why did you try to convince yourself otherwise?" she inquired.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I couldn't bring myself to accept that the girl I had saved in her time of need grew up to become the Madame de Chagny…" I stared forward throughout our conversation, focusing on a pebble lodged in a crack in the opposite wall.

She knelt next to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

"I didn't need your pity then and I don't need it now." I snapped.

"Erik… Do not be rash towards me. I've helped you. I did what you asked." She rose to her feet. "I did not plan on coming down here."

I scoffed. "You brought him down here."

She was silent. "I saw her as my daughter –"

"What does that have to do with ANYTHING?" I snapped once more, standing myself.

"I need to protect her…"

Rage burned inside of me. I shook slightly as I tried to keep from smacking the woman in front of me.

"Get out…" I muttered.

"Erik, don't be so senile." she snapped back, obviously offended.

"Get out! Go away! LEAVE!" I yelled, my hands forming fists. She turned and started out.

She stopped and turned to glare at me once more. "Do not ask for me or my help anymore, Erik."

She walked out and I turned and punched the wall a numerous amount of times.

Yes, numb is nice. I found it hard to move my fingers after my tantrum and did not find myself in any better position than I was before the Madame had showed up.

"Angel of Music, you denied me… Turning from true beauty…"

I stood up to blow out the candle above my head, leaving the passage in complete darkness.

I sat back down, wrapping my arms around my knees again, leaning my throbbing head against the cool wall.

"No one would listen… No one but her. Heard as the outcast hears…" I closed my eyes, remembering my past. How when I was born my mother had screamed in fear and shame and my father was never around. How I constantly tried to impress her with my composing and drawings. She would only rip them up in front of me and tell me to get out of her sight.

"Shamed into solitude… shunned by the multitude." I remember running away and joining the gypsies. If I didn't rake in enough money, I was beat. I was kept in a cage with nothing but a moth-eaten blanket and the small stuffed monkey I had managed to bring with me. Yes I had learned much from them, but the experience left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I learned to listen… In my dark, my heart heard music." I remember the rage I felt when that male gypsy provoked me. How I had been plotting his demise for months. Finally, he was careless and left a rope within my reach. I murdered him ruthlessly. Little did I know that a young Madame Giry had stayed behind to help me. I would surely be killed once they discovered what I had done. She knew that as well I did.

I grabbed the keys off his person and handed them to the young girl. She opened the door and snuck me out of the fair, leading me to the Opera Populaire. I met her in one of the catacombs before she led me to my future home.

Not long afterwards, she brought me a mask during my teenage years. She also asked me to sing for her. I started to steal my necessities. I stole an old organ they had sitting around. That task was not simple.

I started to compose again and it wasn't long after that that she arrived. Christine.

"I long to teach the world. Rise up and reach the world." I remember her crying throughout the nights and I longed to comfort her. "No one would listen. I alone could hear the music."

I would sit in the room while she slept and try to learn about her. One day when I was composing, she sang to my music. Her voice was angelic but she had a lot yet to learn.

"Then, at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, "I hear you. I hear your fears. Your torment and your tears." From there I sang to her, teaching her how to use her voice. She learned quickly and soon started to long for me. She wished to know who I was. She felt my loneliness and wanted to comfort me in return. Every now and then I would help her through her pain over the loss of her father.

"She saw my loneliness. Shared in my emptiness. No one would listen… No one but her, heard as the outcast hears."

I wish I had never listened to her. She enticed me, begging to see me; to meet me. I thought it out carefully and on her first solo performance, I decided it was time.

I later regretted letting her stay in my room that night, for that was when she began to fear me. That was when she saw that, no, I was not her angel.

"No one would listen…"

I wanted to be her everything. I was her teacher, her voice of comfort. But now that voice had a face with which she feared and despised.

"No one but her… Heard as the outcast…hears…"

I sighed. How I longed for her again. If only I could start over and not make the decisions I did. I would not have revealed myself to her. Yes, she would have been angry and she still would have found someone else meant for her, but I may have been able to cope a little more. I would only have been her teacher with no chance for love.

I stood. I had to see her once more. I had to… I felt my way out of the dark passage to my lair. Everything was still in place. I changed into dry, clean clothes and searched for my mask. I found it next to that demented music box. I didn't recall leaving it there.

I would have to take the passageways since my boat was on the other side of the lake. I grabbed a torch and lit it before heading down the same passage I had been sitting in not too long ago. I followed it up to my reserved seat, Box Five. I looked down at the carnage I had wreaked. The whole stage was burnt and the chandelier lay in various pieces about it.

I continued through the main hallway of the Opera, but only briefly. I found the hallway that led to Christine's dorm. That horrible fop was asleep outside of her door. The moron did not think of blocking her door. I quietly stepped around him and put my ear to the door. I could hear her inside. She was asleep.

I opened the door softly and stepped inside: closing and locking the door. I knew I didn't have much time. I walked over to her bed and knelt beside it. She was sweating and her hair stuck to her forehead. Watching her sleep reminded me of all of those nights ago when she slept soundly in my bed.

I reached up to sweep her hair out of her face but she rolled over and faced me. I dove for cover before realizing she was still sound asleep. I assumed my position again next to her. I sat down gently on the bed this time. I swept her hair off of her forehead and she smiled.

"Raoul…" she murmured. Pain and rage filled my being again. I could easily kill him. He was so vulnerable sleeping out in the open. _How foolish_.

I stood from the bed and paced back and forth.

"Angel…?" I heard her ask. I stopped and slowly turned my head to look at her. She was dreaming of me? I walked towards her, kneeling by her side again.

"I am here, my love." I whispered in her ear. She sighed quietly and a frown came to her face. I could only imagine what horrors I was provoking in her dream. I groaned silently. _Erik, you idiot, what are you doing?_

I turned to leave but once I reached the door, I felt I wasn't alone anymore. I slowly looked over my shoulder. She was awake and sitting up.

There was a slight look of fear on her face, which turned to remorse.

"I have forgotten my Angel…" she spoke gently. I turn to face her and she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Before I knew it, she was running into my arms. I tensed as she embraced me, silent sobs racking her body. I was already in pain, what was a little more hurt?

I wrapped my arms around her. "Why did you do it, Christine?" I whispered. She pulled away and took my hands in hers. She led me over to her bed and sat down. I stood in front of her, her hands still in mine.

"Because I love you." She stated matter-of-factly.

I sighed. "But you love him more."

She pulled her hands from mine and wrapped her arms around my waist, her head resting against my stomach.

"I thought I did. He has not allowed me to sing since we returned…" she whispered.

I tensed again. She felt my change in emotions and squeezed me tightly. I looked down at her head and entwined my fingers in her soft hair. "He can't keep you from singing."

She shook her head. "It wasn't the same, either way."

I shook my head. _Don't put yourself through this again. _"No it's not, Christine. He's better for you. With him, you'll have a normal life."

We were quiet for a while and if it weren't for how tightly she held me, I would have assumed she were asleep.

"Angel?" she asked quietly. I stopped stroking her hair.

"Yes?"

"Will you sing to me?" she released my waist and placed her hands in her lap, looking down at them. I removed my shoes and climbed on the bed, sitting behind her. I let my legs spread with one on each side of her. I brushed my fingers over her neck and shoulders.

I started to hum quietly to her, trailing my fingers down her arms. I felt goose bumps rise on her skin and smiled.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication." I grasped her hand and led it to my face. "Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation."

She leaned her head back against my shoulder. I rested my head on top of hers and wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

"You are tired, my dear." I said. As if to confirm my suspicion, she yawned. I scooted away from her and she lay down on the bed.

"Lie next to me?" she asked. I looked out the window. Dawn would be approaching soon.

"I must go soon." I said quietly, leaning over and kissing her forehead.

She pulled down on my shoulders. "Please…?"

I couldn't resist. I sat next to her, propping my shoulders and my head against the backboard and she snuggled into my side. I folded my arms across my chest as I stared into the full-length mirror on the opposing wall.

She was silent for a little bit before looking up at me. I looked down into her eyes. She wanted something.

"Yes?" I asked. Her hand snaked its way onto my stomach. She traced circles and shapes across it. "Can I ask you a question?"

I bit my lip. "Depends."

"On?"

"What is it you wish to ask. And there are conditions." She looked at me, confused.

"Like what?"

"You must go to sleep after I answer and I must go. You need your rest."

She seemed to think about it. "That's not fair."

I groaned and rolled my eyes, smiling. "Life is not fair, love. And those are my conditions."

She sighed, defeated. "Okay."

"Now what is it that your heart desires?" I asked, caressing her cheek with my thumb.

"Promise you'll answer truthfully?"

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

I sighed and remained silent, dropping my hand. Why did she ask that of all things?

"You promised." She said accusingly.

"Yes, I did." I stared at her. "Isn't there anything else you want to know?"

"Yes. But I will save that for after I know your name."

I groaned. "You're so stubborn."

She flinched. I was quick to try and make her better. "I am sorry." I said, reaching up and stroking her cheek. Her tracing on my stomach was quite distracting.

"Please answer my question, Angel." She pleaded.

"My name is Erik…" I said, almost embarrassed. I had never revealed my 'name' to anyone but Madame Giry. I felt oddly vulnerable again.

"Were you named after your father?" she asked, curiously.

An old wound was reopened, thinking about him. She noticed the pain in my eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

I cut her off, placing my finger on her lips. "Hush, my love. Remember my conditions?"

It was her turn to groan. "Okay. But don't think you're getting off that easily."

I chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear. We looked into each other's eyes. I bit my lip again, resisting the urge to kiss her.

"Will you return tomorrow night?" she asked, noticing my lip biting.

"Won't you have left by then?" I asked, remembering she was supposed to leave with HIM tomorrow.

"Not if I request staying here."

I sighed. "Christine, you cannot hide and deny him forever."

"But I shall put it off as long as possible."

I shook my head.

"What?" she asked, furrowing her eyes brows.

"Sleep, Christine, sleep."

"Sing me to sleep." She suggested.

"No." I said plainly. She pouted but didn't push the issue.

**A/N: I know this is a horrible ending, but trust me, this chapter would have been SUPER long if I didn't cut it there. Haha.**


	4. Chapter 4: Decisions

**Disclaimer/Author's Note: I do not own Phantom. Though if I could only have Erik... Anyways! On to Chapter 4! Sorry it didn't get put up yesterday like I said. Technical Dificulties D:**

Chapter 4: Decisions

After she had fallen asleep, the sun started to rise. I carefully slipped away from her and lifted her hand off my stomach. I quickly put my shoes on and slipped out the door.

Raoul was stirring when I passed him. He may have caught a glimpse of me, now that I recall it.

I sat on my bed, looking at a red rose in my hand. I was considering sending it to her, but then I realized that I was indeed still hated by my old friend. I needed to apologize.

"But how?" I said aloud. I would have to pay her a visit later tonight.

Madame Giry was in her bedroom, preparing for her nightly rounds of checking on the girls of the Opera House. I snuck in, quietly closing the door behind me. I felt her eyes on me as I slowly turned to look at her. When I was finally facing her, a ruthless glare stared me down.

"May I help you?" she asked, turning away from me. I started to walk towards her. What was it that I recalled hearing my managers say so many months ago when La Carlotta threatened to leave? Ah, yes. _Grovel._

Perhaps that will be my plan if all else fails. "Madame, I apologize for my foolish behavior…" I said solemnly.

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

"I let my anger best me." I said. She turned and looked at me with anger and a trace of disappointment lingering on her expression.

"Not that, Erik. Why can't you leave the poor girl well enough alone?" She emphasized 'poor girl'. I felt the anger rising again. _Calm down, Erik. Don't start anything now._

"I just had to see her one more time." I said before lowering myself into one of the high backed chairs placed in the far corner of her room. I started to massage my temples.

She sighed. "You know she is only staying because you're here."

I remained silent. Yes, I knew that was the reason. But I had nowhere else. This Opera House was all I had left. Then something came to me.

"You were eavesdropping, Antoinette…" I stated, using her name for the first time in months. I didn't assume, I knew.

"I was checking in, Erik. You must remember that I have my rounds. On that note: I must be going." She stood up and started to walk away. _Ugh. This should not be this hard._

She paused. "I shall consider your apology. I learned the ways of your temper long, long ago."

A small sigh of relief escaped my lips. I knew it was bad, but I needed her to do my bidding. Christine may be leaving – not as soon as she should – and I would still have to entertain myself.

Madame Giry had left. I punished myself for not being as aware as I should. Maybe love was not such a good thing after all. I was so tangled in the previous night that I couldn't concentrate like the Opera Ghost was supposed to. I almost lost my cover as I passed a supposedly empty hallway. The gasp that sounded from the far end alerted me and I retreated into the shadows as quickly as I could.

I sat at my organ, contemplating on if I should return tonight to her room. She obviously would be happy to see me. But Antoinette was right. Maybe if I could bring myself to stay in my dungeon and not visit her anymore, she would move on and leave with Raoul.

Yes, that is what I must do. Perhaps it won't be as bad as I assume. I pulled the small diamond ring that had been returned to me out of my coat pocket. As I examined the trinket, I thought of my options. If I were to leave her for good, I would have to tell her goodbye at some point. And I knew she would want a proper goodbye. But it may be easier for the both of us if I didn't.

I shook my head. She was quite literally a drug to me. Someday I would learn to stay away from her, but right now I had to get as much of her as I could. I stood and wavered slightly, my head spinning and throbbing. I made my way over to the boat and carefully climbed in. The room started to spin again. Maybe this was starting to be too much again. I tried to shake this unexplained vertigo as I started to row.

When I reached the other side of the lake, I found I wasn't as dizzy as I had been. I let out a sigh and started to trudge up the many steps and slopes that took me to Christine's bedroom.

After what felt like hours, I finally reached the long, what was usually lighted, hallway leading towards her room. I approached the two-way mirror and glanced through it, seeing a sight that churned my stomach. The Viscount was sleeping inside her room this time. _Don't go in there! It would be too reckless and foolish! _My mind shouted retorts at me, but this man sitting in front of me had never kept me from my Angel before. And he wasn't going to now.

I slid the door back and slowly shuffled in. Christine was asleep. It looked like she had been crying before she drifted off to sleep. I quietly snuck past the man sleeping in the chair between her bed and the mirror. _He once again forgot to block the entrance. He is much more foolish than I gave him credit for._

I knelt next to her bed, my hand hovering over her mouth. I only had one chance to do this right. I quickly put my hand over her mouth, jolting her awake and her eyes shooting open. I put my finger to my lips silently and glanced at where the Viscount was sleeping. Realization relaxed her. I slowly started to lower my hand away from her mouth.

"I cannot stay long. I shouldn't be here." I whispered low enough for just her to hear.

She shook her head. "I didn't think you would come…"

I raised my visible eyebrow. "You doubt me?"

She shook her head more vigorously, her curls bouncing. I smiled and reached up to touch them. I curled one around my finger, absentmindedly watching it. She reached up and cupped the left side of my face. I still somehow managed to intrigue her. I closed my eyes and leaned into her warm touch. I reached up and took her hand off my face and into my hand, kissing it.

She leaned in closer. "Do I get to ask you any questions tonight?"

I glanced over my shoulder, becoming more and more aware of the Viscount's presence. "Not tonight, love." I whispered back. "I must go. I fear if I stay much longer, we will be caught." I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep. I will be seeing you tomorrow."

She clung to me. "Please don't leave me. Not yet."

My heart ached. I didn't want to leave her. But in all honesty, I had not come prepared to defend myself if the man behind my back was to attack.

"But I must. I'm sorry I have to cut this so shor—" I pursed my lips, cutting off my sentence as I heard someone breathing roughly behind me. I watched Christine's eyes as they looked up to the man standing behind me.

"I thought we were rid of you." Raoul said. I felt the point of his sword jab at my back. I threw my hands up, not particularly wanting to fight in front of Christine. "Get up." He snapped.

I slowly stood up, my eyes watching Christine. She looked vaguely terrified at what her true love was going to do.

"Go get the police." He said from behind me. _I told you that it was foolish._ The voice in my head reminded me. _Just wait. Patience is a virtue. Let Christine get safely away from this room before being rash._

She looked up at him wide-eyed and then at me. I wanted to yell at her to go. Get out. But I knew to keep my mouth shut.

"Hurry, Christine!" he cried. She stood up and quickly ran out of the room. _Now's your chance. Redeem yourself._

I clenched my fist while he looked after her and spun away from his sword, swinging around to make contact with his head. He stumbled backwards, hand rising to his jaw. He sashayed towards me, missing me by inches. My head started to spin again and I struggled to maintain my balance. He slashed at me another time, this time I was not so lucky. I felt the edge of the blade slide against my mask, leaving a scratch behind. What was wrong with me? I spun around, avoiding another recon of swings before aiming my fist at his nose. As I prepared myself to strike again, he brought his sword down towards my face. I raised my fist quickly, feeling the blade smack against my knuckles. _I'd much prefer to have half of a deformed face instead of a full one_. I swung with my other fist, making contact with his chin. I felt his teeth clatter together and he stumbled again.

I landed another punch in his gut and he sent a delayed attack at my side, barely missing. The room spun around me as I tried to keep up. I felt something sharp and cold slide its way between two of my ribs. Pain shot through my body almost immobilizing me. I backed up and looked down at my torso. A dagger of sorts was jutting out of my body, blood oozing from the wound and staining my white shirt. I felt the adrenaline start to seep out of me as I firmly grasped the hilt. I sharply pulled it out, holding it with certainty. I had a weapon now. It may not be a sword, but it will do. He tried to bring his blade down upon me again and I ducked out of the way, my movements becoming sloppy. I hastily tried to find an opening. I had to inflict some injury on him. He spun at me again, becoming surer of his movements. I jabbed the blade out to stab him, missing by inches and scraping his side. Every step I took caused my side to feel like it was being split open. I covered my wound with my unused hand as the other jerked at the Viscount.

I managed to stick my foot out, tripping him. He fell noisily to the floor and I was soon over him, pointing the dagger at his neck and he, pointing his sword at mine, forcing me to bend my neck as far backwards as it could possibly go.

"I see we are at quite the stalemate." I spat. The humor of the situation was that if I moved to kill him, his sword would pierce my soft neck. That may be a risk I will have to take. As the last drop of adrenaline receded, pain took over. Sweat dripped down my face. Who knows how long we stood in our stalemate. Surely not long seeing as Christine had not returned with my captors. I felt my neck starting to ache. Something had to give. Soon.

"Stay away from her." Raoul hissed.

I chuckled. "If you are so concerned about my whereabouts and with whom I am with, monsieur, I find it to be wise that you kill me now."

The point of the blade pushed against the skin of my throat. I inhaled sharply.

"Maybe I will."

I laughed and removed my blade from his neck. "Go right ahead, Viscount."

I felt the blade shaking against my skin. If this was how I should say my goodbye, so be it.


	5. Chapter 5: Consequences and Condition

**Disclaimer/Author's Note: Don't own Phantom. Enjoy Chapter 5!**

Chapter 5: Consequences and Condition

His eyes bore into me as his blade prodded at the underbelly of my chin. _How lovely._ I thought, smiling grimly.

"Well?" I asked. "Where is it? If you are to kill me, then do so. But seeing as you are faltering, I believe you are not going to do any such thing."

He pushed a little more, his teeth clenched. I threw the knife, outstretching my arms.

"The city will see you as a hero, my good Viscount. Ah, all but Christine." I smiled haughtily. "Opera Ghost, dead! Viscount saves theatre and all of Paris itself. Do as you wish but should you do me in, monsieur, the blood from her heart will drain as well as mine."

He applied more force, puncturing my skin slightly. I felt a drop of blood trail down my neck and collarbone.

With a bang the door flew open with Christine and Madame Giry standing in the doorway. The noise surprised Raoul so much that he raked his blade across my neck trying to conceal it. _Why of course, you fool. They can't see the blood! _My thoughts mocked the man.

Christine's heart seemed to shatter at the scene around her. I took the opportunity to glance down at my shirt, which was drenched in sweat and blood.

The Viscount, however, did not sustain as many injuries as I, and he stood at Christine's approach and I fell to my knees, grasping the hole in my ribs. I silently welcomed the pain, my head spinning once more.

"Christine!" he called, running to her. "He forced himself at me. What a fool. He had no weapon!" he seemed to laugh slightly. I assume it may be only fair to let one mock you as you have mocked him.

She welcomed his embrace and I watched in pain. No, not quite physical pain. She looked up at me, pain in her face as well and Raoul started to drag her out. Madame Giry followed close behind, looking at me with disappointment.

I watched the door close and leaned back against Christine's bed. I pulled my hand away to look at it the gash. I was bleeding profusely. My hand was now drenched in blood. I leaned my head back against the soft quilts on Christine's bed. Not long ago I had predicted this would happen, did I not? Yet I did not listen. I felt foolish for not leaving when I should have.

A million questions filled my head. _How bad am I really hurt? Did the knife puncture my lung? Did Christine betray me once again?_ How was I to know the answer to any of those?

I decided to attempt to nurse my injuries. I didn't dare move until they were covered. I slowly pulled my shirt off, wincing as I lifted my arm, and started to pull it apart into long strips. I wrapped a few around my midsection before moving on to examine my few other injuries. I removed my mask for I remembered how it had protected my hideous face from harm. There was a single solitary scratch on it. I frowned and ran my finger over it. It was then that I noticed the torn flesh attempting to cover my knuckles. I relaxed my fingers and started to wrap them when I heard the door open.

I glanced up and watched as Christine came into the room. I frowned even deeper. I wasn't sure if I wanted her here or not. She slowly walked over to me and knelt on the ground next to me. She looked from the scratch on my mask to my knuckles, torso and then my neck. She reached up and covered the small hole from where the tip of the blade pierced it.

I jerked away, not wanting to feel her touch any longer. "You left me." I spat.

She flinched at the harshness in my voice.

"I didn't fetch the police though." She mumbled.

"No of course not. You only left after seeing the damage I was in. What, Christine? I was alive enough so there fore it didn't matter how many injuries I had sustained?" I barked in her face.

She retreated away from me slightly. I looked back to the knuckles on my right hand and continued to wrap the make shift bandage around them.

"Can I help…?" I heard her squeak.

I glanced up at her. "I don't need your help."

I watched her curl up into a ball and wrap her arms around herself out of the corner of my eye. My neck stung a little. I reached up and smeared the blood across it, helping to seal off the wound. Yes, it still bled but at least it wasn't a critical cut. My side constantly reminded me of how much pain I was really in. My hand shot to it and I put pressure on it, leaning my head back against the bed once again. I stretched my legs out in front of me.

I heard her scoot towards me and soon felt her hand on top of mine.

"This is all my fault." She whispered. I felt a tear hit my supporting hand. I opened my eyes and looked at her. Pulling my hand out from under hers, I reached up and turned her head to face me.

"No, love. It's not. I apologize." My hand spread out over her cheek. "I instigated the brawl. I should have trusted that you wouldn't turn me in." I leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

She looked into my eyes and then her gaze averted to the right side of my face. I inhaled sharply and my hand shot up to cover it. She looked at my bandaged hand and reached up, wrapping her hand around it, her thumb rubbing my torn knuckles. She pulled my hand away from my face.

"I am not afraid of this face any longer." She reminded me, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my cheek. I pulled her hand into my lap, enclosing it in both of my hands. I looked down at it as I massaged the top of her hand with my thumbs. I was unable to move – or should I say, I shouldn't move – my fingers on my right hand.

I winced as my side started to throb again, the room starting to spin.

"Can I help now?" she pleaded. I nodded dully and took her hand and placed it over where my hand and the hole in my torso was and pushed on it slightly.

"Pressure." I choked out. She wrapped her left arm behind me and pushed down on my midsection. I clamped my eyes shut as stars evaded my vision. Maybe I was hurt a lot more than I thought. She lay her head down on my bare shoulder and closed her eyes. Not long after, Madame Giry paraded into the room with a fairly decent bandage kit. I chuckled.

"Ah, so are my make shift bandages not good enough for me?" I asked nonchalantly.

Madame Giry gave me a stern look. "I have not forgiven you, Erik. Nor will I after this incident."

My heart dropped again. I remembered her words from earlier. _Yes, Erik, _my thoughts teased me. _Why can't you just leave the poor girl well enough alone?_

Christine looked back and forth between us, her eyes finally resting on me. I turned my head slightly so I could look into her eyes.

"But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound," Christine sang. I closed my eyes. "In the night there was music in my mind…" She sang softly, and started to caress my left cheek.

I felt Antoinette start to pull the bandages off of my wounds, starting with my ribs. I looked down to see how bloodied up my homemade bandages were. Otherwise, I kept my eyes on Christine, trying to keep my mind away from the pain.

With every flinch I made she flinched as well, feeling my pain as she tried to continue singing for me and caressing my cheek.

"And through music my soul began to soar."

I bit my lip as the bandage stuck to me due to blood and anesthetic was dabbed onto the rather large hole in my body. I reached up with my uninjured hand and removed Christine's hand from my cheek, holding it firmly in my hand.

"Squeeze if you must." She whispered into my ear. I closed my eyes and nodded.

Antoinette wrapped my torso with a skilled hand, increasing the tightness before gesturing for my right hand. I placed it in her frail little hand as she started to pull of the bandages. It started to feel as if she were ripping my skin off.

I squeezed lightly on Christine's hand as she turned away. It was quite a vile sight. I had punched with my right hand, causing the cut to tear and open more. I was shocked seeing my knuckles still covered in muscle. I chuckled. Christine removed her head from the blankets to look at me.

"What?" she asked.

"Your fiancé may be good with a sword, but the fool can't cut very well." She scowled, adding a twinge of pain to my heart. Of course she still had strong feelings for the man. I had almost forgotten.

I leaned my head back once more, dropping her hand in my lap and reaching up to stroke her cheek. "Why have you stopped singing, my Angel?"

She blushed, the pink tinting her skin beautifully.

"And I heard as I'd never heard before." She sang softly.

Madame Giry started to put anesthetic on my knuckles and I bit my lip a little harder than anticipated and I tasted blood in my mouth. Christine lifted her hand to trace my bottom lip, trying to prevent me from biting it again.

"Yet in his eyes: all the sadness of the world…"

I released my lip and she saw the irritation where I had gnawed on it, furrowing her brow. I felt a small tug as Madame Giry wrapped my knuckles swiftly before moving to the cut on my neck. She dabbed some anesthetic before packing up her stuff again.

"There. You are finished." She stood to leave and Christine looked troubled.

"What is wrong?" I asked, concern flooding my voice.

She looked back at me and smiled. "You need to rest."

I sighed. I started to sit up and pull myself up on the bed but my side and knuckles protested. She wrapped her warm arms around my bare stomach, trying to help me onto the bed. With her help, I managed to lie down on the bed where she had been laying.

She stroked my forehead and my hair. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling. "Can I inquire some more?" she asked softly.

I cracked open my eyes. "On one condition." My voice was starting to crack from not only injuries but thinking also of the mental wounds that would possibly be reopened.

"Yes, Erik?"

I shivered slightly. I regretted never telling her my name sooner. I loved it when she said the name I had adopted.

"Kiss me."

**A/N: Chapter 6 will be up tomorrow! And I noticed I tend to rhyme a lot. Holy cow!**


	6. Chapter 6: Past Repeating

**A/N: wow, sorry it took so long! I had a play to attend to but it's over. ); Here's Chapter 6! Thanks to all who favorited me :D and reviewed of course.**

**Disclaimer: Phantom. No own. ):**

Chapter 6: Past Repeating

Christine smiled at my request and her hand traveled from my forehead, down my cheek and to my lips and rubbed them with her thumb before slowly leaning in and pressing her lips to mine.

I closed my eyes tightly, lifting my head slightly to press back against her lips. I savored each and every second of our kiss.

The passion ended abruptly when a strand of her hair fell and tickled my nose. _Of course._I felt an awful urge to sneeze and I wrinkled my nose, trying to stifle it. She soon guessed the cause of my sudden tensing and sniffling. She smiled and pulled away, laughing at how ridiculous I must have looked.

What a scene! The Opera Ghost, bested by a silly lock of hair! I felt a jolt of hilarity erupt in my bones and I couldn't help but laugh with her and, eventually, sneeze.

Such joy hadn't acquainted itself with me in ages. However, the unusual fit of laughter caused my side to erupt in utter pain, cutting my happiness short.

Christine noticed the pained expression on my face and jumped to comfort me.

"What's wrong? Is it your side?" she asked, placing her hand on my rib cage. I nodded silently and put my hand on top of hers.

"I'm fine, Angel." I whispered. I was slightly upset that something as trivial and silly as a sneeze interrupted us. She lay down, resting her head on my shoulder.

As more thoughts paraded inside my mind, one stood out prominently.

"You seemed hurt..." I said. Not until after I had said it did I realize it was completely irrelevant and spontaneous to her.

She looked up at me quizzically.

"When I spoke of Raoul. Joked, may be the appropriate term." I lifted my head to look at her. She knew what I had meant now. "You scowled." I added.

"He hurt you." she said after a moment. I must admit, I was slightly astounded. She noted my shock. "I'm not saying that I don't care about him and still love him though..."

She got quiet again. I started to get morbidly curious.

"What would you do if I disappeared?" I suddenly asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting some rest?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Please answer me, Christine." I begged, reaching up and cupping her cheek. It was not often I did such a thing either.

"I'm not sure what I would do." she started. "I can hardly bear to think of something so horrifying."

_Good God, what have I gotten myself into? I'm never going to be able to leave her..._

She looked up at me, suddenly terrified and worried. "You aren't leaving are you?"

I sighed, leaning my head back into the pillow and closing my eyes.

"Maybe it would be best for me if I got some sleep." I mumbled, trying to avoid the question as long as possible.

I felt a hand stroking my hideous cheek. "I understand..." she whispered.

My heart failed to beat at her words but I kept my silence. That is, until I started to feel tears running down my chest.

"How is it you can even bear look at me, let alone love me, when all I do is hurt you?" I asked, stroking her hair. She lifted her head to look at me, a twinge of anger in her eyes.

"Christine, you cannot possibly enjoy this." I said, wiping away her tears.

"I do... Erik, I love you..." she said, looking into my eyes.

I groaned and sat up quickly, throwing her off of me.

"Isn't that what you want?" she asked, angered.

"Yes, Christine, but I have no right to. I shan't let my damned and corrupted soul stain your innocence..." I put my head on my knees, ramming them into my eye sockets. I wrapped my arms around my head. "Don't think I don't love you Christine. I do. But you love him... We both know you do –"

Christine stood up and towered over me. I lifted my head to look at her. "I do not wish to love him any longer, Erik." she spat. "If I could chose as easily as you think I can, I would have left him–"

I swung my legs off the bed and jumped to my feet, shaking with anger. I reached up and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer.

"You believe this is any easier for me?!" I growled, jerking her and slightly twisting her arm. I ignored the shouting protests of my injuries. "Think again you pretentious harlot!" I threw her to the ground as I had before. My nails dug into my palms. "Don't ever think that this is anything less than hell for me."

She looked up at me in fright. I held back tears of anger and of remorse. _What have I done...?_Tears ran from her eyes as she started to shake. In fear or anger, I did not know.

The door opened and little Meg Giry walked into the room. She gasped at the sight of Christine and almost screamed at the sight of my face when I turned to look at her. Madame Giry followed quickly behind her.

She looked at Christine who lay broken on the floor and then looked up at me, astonished. "I never thought I would see the day..." she walked over to my mask which still lay upon the floor, now near Christine's quivering form, and picked it up. She handed it to me and I yanked it from her hands, placing it upon my face.

"I think it would be best if you left." she said, her voice full of malice.

I glanced once more at the body of my love on the floor behind her as the younger Giry tended to her.

I looked back into Antoinette's eyes, hoping she saw the horror and suffering in my eyes. Yet hers did not soften. She leered at me until I turned my back to retreat into my own personal hell again.

* * *

I awoke the next morning, lifting my head from the keys of my organ. I could not recall my journey down in which my rage and sorrow had fueled each step. I stretched, my wounds screaming in pain. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself as I started to stand up, ignoring the pain.

Perhaps I had dreamt it all. Had I really...

I couldn't ever see her again. She said she loved me and I threw her to the ground, calling her appalling names. I knelt by the edge of the lake, grimacing at my hidden sin. I don't believe I could classify myself as a gentleman any longer. I didn't understand what had come over me. As I reveled in self-hatred, I did not hear the faint footsteps behind me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I tensed. The hand absently caressed the muscle covering my shoulder before tugging on it. I turned slightly to see a beautifully dressed Christine Daaé standing in my midst once more.

"Why are you here?" I mumbled.

"He wants me to leave tonight." she whispered. I looked away from her beautiful features to my mask covered monstrous ones reflecting in the water.

"Will you go?" I asked, praying for her to say no. _But she must!_

She hesitated, absentmindedly rubbing my shoulder again. I stood up and I felt her hand slide over my shoulder blades and and to my middle back before dropping. I turned and looked at her. I saw the atrocious hand shaped bruise that wrapped around her upper arm. She was looking straight ahead at my legs, knowing that I had seen it.

I continued to wait for an answer as she studied my calves. I watched as she reached a hand up and touched them, as if assuring herself I was really standing in front of her.

"I should not say such things to my Angel..." she murmured.

She slowly stood up, looking at my chest instead of my eyes.

"I'm sorry." she apologized.

"Why have you not answered me, then?" I asked. She finally looked into my eyes.

"I do not want to leave. I wish to stay..." she paused, looking down. "With you."

I sighed and looked at her arm. I reached up and touched it, watching as her gaze follow my hand. She flinched at the coldness of my fingers as they gently cupped around her arm, matching up to the marks perfectly.

"I do not wish to cause you anymore harm, Christine." I whispered. "If you stay this will continuously happen..."

She looked up and cupped my face. "But so will this."

She leaned towards me and pressed her soft lips, more wanting in it than the last, to my cracked ones. I granted her her kiss, restraining myself as I kissed her back.

She pulled away and looked at me, stroking my left cheek.

"Is this what you want?" I asked somberly, gesturing to the purple and almost black bruise on her arm.

She shook her head. "No. This is what I want." she said, placing her right hand over my heart. She hooked her left thumb under my mask and pulled it off, tossing it gently to my bed. "This," she said, placing her hand on my cheek. "Is what I need. I need you, Erik. Not Raoul."

"Is that so?"

I looked over her shoulder and saw the last man I wanted to see right now. She gasped slightly and we both could not help but wonder how long the fuming Viscount had been standing there.

Funny how past seems to repeat itself.

**A/N: I feel like it's short. /: I just felt like that was a good place to stop. Let me know if you liked it! I'll put Chapter 7 up as soon as I can! (:**


	7. Chapter 7: Lessons Learned

**A/N: Heeere's Chapter 7! Hope you like it! Thanks for all of the wondrous reviews and such! My darn spacebar isn't wanting to work right, so if you see any spacing errors, please let me know! haha.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom. End of story. D;**

Chapter 7: Lessons Learned

I watched the man cautiously as Christine put herself between us. "No more..." she begged, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Please." Neither of us answered her, glaring daggers instead.

Raoul glanced at Christine's bruised arm before closing the distance. "Come on, Christine. We're leaving."

He reached up and wrapped his hand around her wrist to drag her away. She tried to yank out of his grip. "No, Raoul. I don't want to leave."

He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arm around her waist to get more pulling leverage. "I don't think you have a choice in the matter anymore, Christine. The longer we stay the harder–"

I finally couldn't stand watching him treat her the way he did. _You're no better than he is._ I shook away my thoughts, my fist swinging around and making contact with his jaw, knocking him backwards.

Christine looked at me, astonished, as did he. I breathed through my clenched teeth. My wounds started to burn again, laboring my breathing. I wasn't sure if I was ready for another brawl like our previous one.

Raoul started to charge at me, rage burning in his eyes. I prepared myself for whatever he was going to deal.

Suddenly, a head of curly hair blocked my vision.

"Stop Raoul." Christine said, her arms outstretched, blocking us from the other man.

He looked shocked but also had a victorious air about him. _The fool thinks she's leaving with him. _I chuckled. The Viscount shot an angry glare at me.

"Go."

The simple word astounded both of us. We looked down at Christine.

"What?" Raoul asked, sudden worry in his eyes.

"I'm not leaving with you Raoul. I'm staying here. Now, go... Please." she pleaded.

My heart raced. _I must be dreaming..._

"But– why– Y-You're staying... here?" he stuttered.

"Yes." she replied simply. "Good bye, Raoul..." She stepped closer to him, brushing her lips quickly against his before pulling away and returning to stand next to me. He looked at us in disbelief.

"This isn't the last you'll hear of me." he shot at me. He then turned to Christine, looking into her eyes one more time before turning around and walking towards the boat that rested on the edge of the lake.

He looked back once more and Christine leaned in closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

We watched as he rowed the boat away, waiting until he was gone to move.

My body refused to react, stunned at what just happened.

"Erik?" she asked, turning to look at me. "Are you okay...?"

I looked ahead a little while longer before peeling my eyes away from where the Viscount had disappeared. I looked down at her. In her eyes I saw sadness and joy at the same time.

"Yes." I replied, stroking her jaw and neck. She smiled sadly.

"I wish I didn't have to end it like that." she said, looking down at her hands.

I lifted her chin up so I could look into her eyes. I leaned in and kissed her softly.

I felt a tear fall onto my hand. I pulled away from her and took a deep breath.

"The question is, my dear..." I started, brushing her hair back with my fingers. "Are you okay?"

She gazed distantly at my lips. She sighed, closing her eyes and reopening them.

"Yes." she replied with much certainty.

I smiled crookedly before wiping the very last tear from her cheek. "Are you sure this is what you want?" I asked.

She nodded. "You are all I've ever needed."

She wrapped her arms around my waist and nestled her cheek against my chest.

I held her close to me. But I couldn't help but glance at the direction the Viscount had disappeared. Something didn't feel right.

I heard a small grumble and I pulled away from Christine. She blushed a vibrant red.

"Sorry." she apologized, holding her stomach.

"Go eat, Christine. I must talk to Madame Giry."

She started to protest but I put my finger to her lips. "I will be back before you are." I promised.

She nodded in agreement. I strode over to my bed and picked up my mask, glancing at the cut on the temple. I scowled slightly, trying to concealing it from Christine. She hooked her arm around mine and led me to the doorway of a passage where I then led her up to a secret entrance to the hall outside of the dining hall.

"Promise?" she whispered, stopping to look at me before she left the small tunnel.

"Yes, my Christine. I promise." I bent down to place a light kiss on her lips before urging her out of the door.

She waved - or rather wiggled her fingers - in farewell before I closed the entrance. I strolled down the long, winding passageways before finally finding the one I was looking for. I exited the tunnel cautiously, for I seldom walked in the open during the day.

I approached Madame Giry's dormitory door and gently knocked before walking into the room. I caught a glimpse of Antoinette sitting at her small desk in the far corner of the room. Before I could take a seat, she started asking questions.

"Why did you lose your temper last night?"

I sighed and sat down gently in a large backed velvet chair. "She accused me. She believed that everything that had been occurring in our demented love triangle did not affect me." I paused. "We were on quite the touchy subject."

The Madame scoffed. "I will be surprised if she accepts an apology from you." she said, looking at me as my mother would have.

"That's why I'm here." I said quietly.

An expression of surprise took over her face. "Did she?"

"Indeed... She did much more than that."

Shock took over surprise. "What are you saying, Erik?"

"She finally told him. She made him leave without her, telling him she wanted to stay..." I hesitated. "With me..." Antoinette seemed unsure if she should be happy for me or disappointed even more. "I don't know what to say."

I sighed again. "What have I done?" I moaned, covering my face with my hands. "What horror have I provoked?" She stood up and walked over to me, sitting in the chair next to me. "He will seek revenge. That much is certain." I felt her gaze burning through my hands. I removed them from my face and pretended to occupy myself with rubbing my injured knuckles. "Be on your guard, Erik." she warned. "He is much stronger in popularity and power than he is in strength. Just..." she hesitated. "Promise you will be careful and keep her safe."

I finally looked up from my aching hand. "I swear to you. Nothing will harm her." She leaned over and placed her hand on top of mine. "I know her ignorance will enrage you. But I know you have the strength to contain your temper."

I ran my other hand through my hair. "I pray you are right, Antoinette."

She removed her hand from mine and stood, and strode over to her dresser. She pulled out a first aid kit. "Take this with you. It seems the bandages you have now aren't going to last much longer." she said, handing it to me. I took the small box from her and stood, tucking it under my arm. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I promised her I would be back before she was finished eating." I bowed slightly to her and she smiled apathetically.

"Good bye, Erik." she said as I passed through her door.

* * *

I quickly made my way through the tunnels. I wasn't going to make it back before she did. In one passage I heard a grotesque shriek as La Carlotta tried to sing again. She continuously started to break out in sobs and wails and exclamations of "he's gone!".

I recalled murdering Piangi on the set of Don Juan. I don't pity her. Regret may be too powerful a word. But it's the first that comes to mind. It is not quite a remorsefull regret but I do "regret" killing the man for now I, and the whole Opera Populaire, was forced to hear her lamentations.

As I continued down the passage, the ugly screeches and croaks turned to beautiful and angelic scales.

I followed the singing I knew all too well and emerged above the opera stage. I looked down and saw my Christine, leaning against the horribly old elephant prop used in Hannibal. She started with her middle C. I listened and smiled as she started to trip up on her high E.

She groaned and started over.

"Sing my angel." I commanded as I had when we first sang together in person. Her singing grew confident.

"Sing for me!" She hit the note with wonderful pitch and purity and I smiled triumphantly. I grabbed onto a nearby rope and slid down, planting my feet firmly on the stage behind her. "How is it you can strike the note while you know I am here," I inquired. "But have difficulties when you're all alone?"

She blushed again. "It comes more easily. I'm not sure why." I smiled and walked towards her. I reached up and placed my hand on the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. "You are not as confident anymore, my Angel." She opened her eyes. I removed my hand from her neck and placed it on her waist. I held the other one up for her hand.

She looked at me with confusion in her expression. "I have one more lesson I have wanted to show you." I said. She soon caught on and realized that I wanted to dance. She placed her hand in mine and her other on my shoulder. "But we have no music."

I chuckled. "I do believe that is where my lesson falls into place."

"Oh." she said quietly. "But how?" I started to hum the accompaniment to the song she sang on her solo debut in the 4th act of Hannibal. She closed her eyes as we started to waltz slowly.

She sang along angelically as I hummed the instrumental. Christine had been a chorus girl and wonderful dancer before she had sang solo. I had always secretly longed to dance with her. She gazed confidently into my eyes the entire time. Every now and then when I would dip her I would attempt to distract her by kissing the underside of her jaw and her neck. At first she would giggle gaily and I couldn't help but smile.

Finally we stopped spinning around the stage and Christine worked to regain her breath. "You must learn how to use your lungs wisely. Some operas may you to be a little more physical than you are used to." I smiled and pulled her into a hug. "You did superb otherwise, love." She smiled into my chest, a small yawn escaped her lips.

I heard the managers start to unlock the doors to the opera house. "We must leave." I whispered. "You must move swiftly and silently." I enclosed her hand in mine and led her back into the web of passage ways that branched out throughout the Opera Populaire.

* * *

We returned to my lair and I directed her to the bed. "Perhaps you should rest, Christine." I said, gesturing at the bed behind me.

She nodded sleepily and sat down on it. She started to pull off her shoes before sitting them orderly beside the bed. "What about all of my stuff?" she asked as I pulled back the covers for her.

"It may stay in your dormitory if you would like." I answered. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up over her. "Can I bring some of it here?" she asked, closing her eyes. I leaned down towards her, whispering in her ear. "Of course."

She smiled before I pressed my lips to hers. Her hand reached up and entwined with my hair, pulling me closer.

I finally had to pull away to catch my breath. Being bent at such an awkward angle was not only making me slightly light-headed but was stretching the muscles on my side, causing the gash in my ribs to bleed again.

"Good night, Christine." I said, standing up straight.

"Good night, Erik." she said, rolling onto her side and curling into a ball. I smiled and left her side to go sit near the edge of the lake. I crossed my legs and looked out passed the portcullis. Something wasn't quite right. It felt like all Hell was about to break loose and punish me for tainting such a perfectly innocent soul.

At least one of us would sleep well tonight.

**A/N: whoo this chapter is a doozy. Haha. It's one of my favorite's so far (: chapter 8 may be up tomorrow!**


	8. Chapter 8: Unsettling Memories

**A/N: I'm quite proud of this chapter. I refrenced some of Susan Kay's novel later on in the chapter. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom.**

Chapter 8: Unsettling Memories

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I must admit that I was a little surprised to see Christine lying next to me. She continued to sleep peacefully. I wanted to reach out and touch her to confirm she was really here beside me. I decided against it, carefully rolling to the edge of the bed.

I climbed out stiffly. I could feel where my wounds had started to heal as I stretched. I looked down my bare chest and to the bandage wrapped around my torso. It wasn't a pleasant sight to see. I grimaced at the bloody cloth before searching for the first aid Madame Giry had given me.

I found it sitting on top of my organ. I gently lowered myself onto the bench before I started to unwrap the bandage. I had forgotten I had caused it to bleed the previous night. As I removed the bandage, it stuck to my skin. I slowly pulled it off of the gash in my ribs, clenching my teeth. It started to bleed again. I scowled at it before tossing the dirty bandage aside, noting to throw it away, before reaching for the new one.

I slowly started to wrap myself up again, pulling the bandage tight to stop the blood flow. Once I had finished, I tied a knot at my side and looked down at my knuckles. They needed to be wrapped again too.

Luckily, I hadn't torn open the cut again by punching my pompous intruder last night. I found this wound didn't need nearly as much bandage as my torso had. I wrapped it lightly and put the box away. I looked briefly over to Christine who was still sound asleep. I stood and walked silently to my room and grabbed fresh clothes. I dressed as quietly as I could, which I'm sure was quite silent.

After I had slipped my boots on and placed my mask on my face, I walked over to where I had all of my drawings of Christine pinned up. I reached out and lifted one up to look at it better. I noted the change in the drawings throughout time. As I had seen more of Christine, my drawings had advanced in detail. I caught a glimpse of one of the pictures I had drawn long ago of her in a wedding dress. The one she had worn before leaving with Raoul. I gritted my teeth and pulled it off, crumpling it.

It was then that I heard the quiet padding of feet against the stone floor. I glanced up and saw Christine standing at the top of the stairs that led to my bed.

I averted my gaze back to my drawings, checking to see if I had anymore similar to the one I had just crumpled up.

I heard her start to walk towards me and soon found her arms wrapping around my stomach. She rested her head on my back.

"Good morning." she said quietly.

"Did you get enough sleep?" I asked her, still examining my drawings. I felt her nod.

"And you?" she asked.

"I don't need much sleep, Christine." I said.

"Oh." she replied. I smiled. I knew so much about her but she knew so little about me. I had a feeling there would be a lot of interrogating today.

I placed my bandaged hand over both of hers. "I am well rested, my love. Do not worry."

I turned around in her grip and faced her, wrapping my arms around her. I bent down and kissed the top of her head.

I was still astounded that she was here with me. She looked up at me.

"Will you tell me more about your past?" she asked. I bit my lip.

"I will only share what is appropriate for others to know. Some of my past, Christine, is best left untold." I said solemnly.

She looked at me sadly. I was sure she wanted to know everything. But most of what I had adopted from the gypsies was best left unsaid. "What would you like to know, my dear?"

She released my waist and grabbed my hands, pulling me over to the bed again. She sat down and pulled me down to sit next to her. She kept my hands in hers. "Start from the beginning, please." she said.

I took a deep breath and looked at our hands in her lap. Revealing everything unknown about me was not something I generally do. In fact, I don't do it whatsoever. But I assume it is only fair.

She looked at me patiently, waiting for me to begin.

"I guess..." I started. "It would be best if I started at my birth." I looked over at her. "I will skip quite a lot. Try to keep up."

She nodded and sat attentively.

"My fate was quite set when I was born in a small town outside of Rouen, France. I will spare you the details of my whereabouts. My mother saw my horrid face and stared in agony, unable to even scream. "Why had I produced such a fiend?" she would cry throughout the few years I lived with her. My father... he was never around. My mother would tell me he was rigid with fear of my face and would not come within miles of me. Our maid, however, told me he was a master mason and died long before I was born." I glanced over at Christine and she urged me on. "I strived to be worthy in my mother's eyes. I was an exceptional artist in both music and illustrations. I would draw structures for my mother and hum instrumentals; sing compositions to her. My drawings: she shredded before my eyes. When I sang: she shunned me and told me I was not worth her time and my voice was supernaturally beautiful and could not be that which was created by God."

Christine's hand tightened around mine. "I attempted to show the maid my work instead but she too was revolted by my appearance and would avoid me as much as possible."

I paused. The next memory was extremely painful and brutal. "On my fifth birthday I had refused to wear the cloth mask, my mother made me wear it every second of the day, at the dinner table. To punish me, she dragged me to the only mirror in the house in retaliation. When I saw my reflection for the first time, I thought it to be that of a grotesque monster. I shattered the mirror, lacerating my hands and wrists. My mother was unable to bring herself to tend to my wounds. Instead, a family friend bandaged my wounds and saved my life. I had quite a fascination of mirrors after my experience and I started to learn and perform my well renowned illusions."

I stopped to look at Christine. "Keep going." she whispered. I was unsure if it was awe or fright that quieted her voice.

"My mother was soon wooed by a town physician who encouraged her to send me to an institution to be locked away. I tried my best to stop it, using somewhat of a ventriloquism to convince others we were a well content and happy family, hypnotizing my mother. The town soon grew suspicious and a mob formed, raiding our house. They killed our dog, awoke my mother from her trance and had attacked me, leaving me half dead. The physician came to my aid and saved me but continued his attempts at persuading my mother to send me away. The man also proposed to her."

I looked down at our hands again. "I left that night, running as fast and as far as I could, feeling that my mother could live a happy life with the man without me. I ran into a gypsy camp in the woods where they thought I was a thief. The showman removed my mask, astonished by his discovery and deemed me the Devil's Child."

I decided to avoid my lessons with the gypsies like I had planned. "If I didn't make enough money to suit the showman, I was beaten mercilessly. Finally, I revolted and hung the man. The same night, I was rescued and hidden by a young Madame Giry who had come to the fair along with many ballerinas training at the opera. She led me to the cellars and presented me to my future home."

Christine leaned her head in and rested it on my shoulder.

"Perhaps I shall save the rest of the story for another day." I said, wanting to end the stories about my past.

Christine nodded in agreement. I looked down at her face. It was solemn.

"I'm sorry." she said.

"And what have you to be sorry for? Please do not feel sorrow for me Christine. You know as well as I that pity is nothing I welcome tenderly." I said.

She was silent. She removed her head and looked into my eyes. "I'm also sorry for being horrendously curious about your past."

I shook my head. "It is only fair, my love. I know all there is to know about you. It is time you knew a little more about myself."

She reached up and hooked her finger under my mask, pulling it off. "So much hurt lies beneath this mask..."

She took in the right side of my face, as if memorizing every disgusting inch of it. A single tear ran down her face.

"Do you still think your voice is one not created by God?" she asked.

"I have yet to know, Christine. My voice can persuade and enslave you. It frightens and signals death to many. Such a voice cannot be one of God's creations."

She shook her head. "No, my Angel. Your voice is heavenly and when you sing it fills my soul. Your voice is that of an Angel."

"Perhaps. But I am no Angel in the eyes of God. Perhaps I am an Angel of which fell from grace."

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Thank you for reviewing! When I get those fun little Review Alert Emails, it's like Christmas morning! :D**


	9. Chapter 9: Hopes and Trepidations

**A/N: Wow, I think I'm gonna cry. I had this whole chapter typed up and it was amazing and I hit close without saving. And it was gone. )8 So here's my attempt to rewrite it. ): I've been starting a Titanic fic! Woot! Which is partially why this has taken so long. I apologize for the horrible editing I did in the last chapter. I fixed it though! Here's Chapter 9. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Phantom!**

Chapter 9: Hopes and Trepidations

I sat on my organ bench, running my hands through my hair. Speaking of my past had pushed me slightly closer to my breaking point than I felt comfortable with. I sighed and waited for Christine to finish dressing as I softly caressed the keys on the organ.

I was deep in thought when I felt Christine's hand on my shoulder. Today was the 3rd week of the month and I had not been paid. My managers were lacking again – although it did not surprise me. I looked up at Christine and sighed. I removed her hand from my shoulder, holding it tenderly in my own, and brought it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. She smiled slightly and tugged on my hand as if urging me so stand up. I stood upon request, placing one of my hands on the small of her back and the other one caressed her jaw. I could hear her heart racing as I rested my forehead on hers.

"I won't ask anymore about your past." she whispered silently. I felt glad and yet pained at the same time, knowing how horribly unfair it was to leave her with little knowledge of my life.

I sighed, closing my eyes. Her hands rested on my shoulders. I heard her breathing start to slow again and I pursed my lips. I pulled her closer to me, our bodies touching now and I heard her breathing quicken again. The corner of my lip pulled up for a millisecond before turning into a scowl of sorts. I tried to rid my mind of my worries and trepidations and to only think of how fortunate I was to have such an Angel in my presence.

Just then she wrapped her arms around my torso and her lips crushed against mine, sending my mind reeling. She started to try to pull me as close to her as she could get me. _Don't let it progress. Do not ruin her innocence, you fool! _My conscience shot retorts at me as I entwined my hand in the hair on the back of her head, pulling her closer. I brushed them away, blocking out my mind and just being for once. Her hand moved from my back to my nape, her fingers lacing into my hair, pulling me closer to her. Her hips pressed against mine, causing my heart to pound.

She had me so distracted that next thing I knew I heard a loud and horrible chord erupt. She had pushed me up against my organ. I was practically sitting on the keys. We both jumped, our lips breaking apart as we tried to calm down from the sudden noise. I felt slightly dizzy from my heart beating so hard and I took in a long shaky breath. I put my head in my hands, closing my eyes as I struggled to gain my composure.

I glanced up and smiled as Christine tried to flatten her hair. Her face was flushed but the more I watched her, I figured it to be in fact, that she was blushing. I reached out and put my hands on her waist, pulling her close to me again. She stood slightly taller than I while I slouched against the keys. I leaned back, looking into her eyes.

"And what reason have you to blush?" I spoke quietly. She blushed an even deeper red.

"I don't know what came over me." she said, barely above a whisper. I smiled and wiggled my finger, signaling for her to bend down closer to me. As she did so, I reached up and put my hand on the back of her neck, slightly pulling her closer to my face than she intended.

"Do not be ashamed, Christine." I whispered, my breath caressing her lips. I closed the distance and kissed her tenderly. We broke apart not long after and I stood up. She leaned against me, her head on my chest and she sighed. I combed my fingers through her tightly wound curls, my chin resting on the top of her head.

"I love you." she mumbled quietly. My heart jumped again. If it would ever cease to jump at those words, I would surely be 8 feet under ground.

She removed her head from my chest and looked up into my face. "Can I ask a few questions?" she asked.

I contemplated for a second what they could possibly be. I knew she had said she wouldn't ask anymore about my past. I would give her whatever her heart desired, though. No matter how much grief it may cause me. "Whatever you wish." I said, kissing the tip of her nose.

She strolled over to an armchair I had placed in my bedroom and sat down in it. She indicated that I should sit on the floor between her legs. I did so and pulled her leg over my shoulder, caressing her calf and resting my head against her knee. She started to gently comb through my hair with her slender fingers.

"When was the last time you used your voice to hypnotize me?" she asked.

_What a strange question._ "In the graveyard." I replied without hesitation.

She was quiet for a while. I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. I had hypnotized her not to get her closer to me but to get her away from him. She truly believed I was her savior.

"I apologize." I said quietly. "It was repulsive what I did to you to get you away from that fool."

She started to carelessly twirl my hair around her fingers. "I was glad to hear your voice again..." she stated. "I hadn't heard it in so long and I feared I had truly lost you."

She paused. "I have my last question." she said quietly yet surely.

"Yes?" I asked patiently. I was slightly curious as to what this question may be.

"You are such a strong man..." she started and I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder. "Are you truly intrigued by me? Did I truly seduce you during Don Juan?"

The question shocked me. I turned around and put my hands on her waist, my arms and elbows resting on her legs while I knelt on my knees.

"What a silly question to ask, Christine. You are truly an enchanting woman. You wouldn't believe how much I yearn for you even when you do not seduce me. I allow you to much more often than I should." I chuckled as she blushed. "You do not quite understand how hard it truly is to contain my composure when I am around you."

"Then don't." she whispered, looking down. Her was voice slightly ragged.

"I must. For your pride, Christine."

She opened her mouth to say something but I quickly jumped to interfere. "You may not realize it but I could be your downfall. I don't want you to have to lose your salvation to satisfy my lust for you."

"But what if I have the same lust towards you?" she retorted. I must admit this surprised me.

"We are not properly wed, Christine, and if we are to become one, I want it to be proper first." She sighed. "Not for my sake but for yours."

"Why is everything about my sake, Erik?" she asked, a hint of harshness to her voice. I flinched as she used my name so roughly.

"If we were to make love tonight and I impregnated you with a monstrous heir, I would not be able to watch you go through what my mother did. You should not have to live a life in darkness, let alone with **two** disfigured brutes." I spat, pushing my point.

She looked hurt. I saw her eyes slightly water up.

"I am sorry, Christine, but that is why I must try to contain myself. I agreed with you staying with me, but I don't want you to bear such a burden."

My hand shot to her stomach where, if such a thing were to happen, my child would grow.

"But..." she started, placing her hand on mine. "I want to bear your child. Whether it should resemble it's father or not. I fell in love with this face," she reached up and cupped my leathery skin. "And I will always love it."

"Do not mistake my worries for what I truly desire," I started, looking at our hands. "Seeing you bearing my child would be the utmost beautiful and wonderous thing I would ever have the pleasure to experience."

My heart jumped at the thought of my Angel, he stomach quite swollen.

"I know you love and fear for me," she paused. "But this is something I wish to do. I know that there is a chance our child will resemble you. But it would be such a lovely and beautiful child all the same."

I bit my lip. I was backed into a corner. My reasons were no longer valid. I sighed and removed my hands from her waist and stomach and rested my head in them. When I looked up she was looking down at her stomach and was seemingly thinking about what it would be like. I smiled and placed my hand over hers.

"I will think about it." I said quietly. She smiled.

"Just imagine." she said, looking from her flat stomach to me. I took her hand away from her stomach and opened it. I kissed her palm and then the tips of her fingers before closing her hand and kissing her knuckles. I kept my lips against them as I spoke.

"I'd rather not." I said sheepishly, showing her that I was, no matter how badly I didn't want to.

So now, instead of drowning out my worries and trepidations, I added one more to the jumbled mess that was known my thoughts.

**A/N: Thank you for bearing with me! I tried so hard to make this a good one. I had a horrible writer's block but I have such a wonderful plot now(: and don't think it's just a Christine-gets-pregnant-out-pops-a-baby kind of thing. Oh no, life is not THAT easy for Erik. (: mwuah ha ha. (: please keep reviewing. It helps me know people are still even reading. Raoul's return is on the horizon. But you will not know when until it happens and whoo buddy. You will not see it coming. (: Thank you for reading. I give a toast to those who read my horrible Author's Notes. **


	10. Chapter 10: Mother

**A/N: Okay so here's Chapter 10. Things are really gonna start getting crazy. Emotions are about to run high! I had a really good idea for this chapter. (: Enjoy! There's going to be a lot of Susan Kay references but I'll make them fit tastefully.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom.**

Chapter 10: Mother

I didn't sleep that night. When I started to sleep I was haunted by horrid nightmares. I sat up in my bed and glanced down at Christine. She was happily asleep, surely dreaming. I remembered the dream so vividly I was surprised I hadn't lost my sanity. I rubbed my eyes wearily. I carefully tossed the covers off my legs and stepped out of bed.

I walked over to one of the shattered mirrors and looked at my jagged reflection. The gash in my ribs had started to scar already. I had always healed rather fast and I was quite thankful for it. I averted my gaze from that scar to my deformed face. I closed my eyes, remembering when I had first seen my reflection. I shook my head to rid myself of the memory. I went to my bureau and dressed in silence before walking over to my organ in a daze, other childhood memories filling my mind.

I sat down and quietly played Kyrie. I sang along softly, recalling when I had sung it for the first time.

* * *

_Father Mansart listened intently as I sang during one of our home Masses he performed so Mother would not have to leave the house and face embarrassment. The first time he heard me sing, his eyes filled with tears._

_I listened carefully as he spoke to Mother of my voice. I watched them from the piano bench._

"_If it were not blasphemy to think such a thing," he muttered slowly, trying to prevent me from hearing. "I would have said I had heard the voice of God here in this very room."_

_It was silent and Mother turned to look at me, her eyes catching mine. I felt triumphant. Father Mansart beckoned me forward and I obeyed. He told me solemnly that I had a rare and wonderful gift. He walked me to the piano, Mother's eyes following us. The priest's hand rested tensely on my shoulder._

"_I should like to hear you sing the Kyrie, Erik. You know the text, I believe."_

"_Yes, Father."_

_He played softly on the piano as I sang rather meekly._

"Kyrie eleison_ . . . . _Christe eleison_. . . ."_

_Lord have mercy upon us. . . . Christ have mercy upon us. I sang the invocations three times. But before the next phrase took breath, Mother slammed the lid down on the piano, almost catching the priest's fingers. She started to sob. My heart sunk. Mother was not happy with my singing. . . . I felt afraid and rather miserable._

"_You are overwrought," said the priest briskly, pushing Mother into a chair. "It is understandable. Great beauty is often perceived by human senses as pain."_

_She seemed to shudder. "He is not to sing again, Father. . . . I will not permit it."_

_I quietly wept, not wanting Mother to hear and be more ashamed._

"_My dear child, I can't think that you mean that. Forbidding expression to such a gift would be positively unkind."_

_Mother sat upright in the chair, staring past the priest and at me._

"_His voice is a sin," she said grimly. "A mortal sin. No woman who hears it will ever die in a state of grace."_

* * *

I sighed as I finished the song. My heart ached at the old and haunting memory. I looked over at Christine, remembering my mother's words. I scowled at the bitter thought. Surely it wasn't my voice alone that lured her in. . . . was it?

I was suddenly fighting the urge to be sick. I stood from my bench and sat on the floor, leaning against the organ's mahogany side. I heard the covers rustle in my room and I felt Christine's presence. She had woken up. I watched her sit up, looking around trying to find me. She glanced over in my direction, her eyes finally finding mine. I tasted bile in my mouth as she smiled sweetly. I took a deep breath before calling her to me.

"Come to me, Christine." I said softly, fearing if I spoke much louder I might vomit.

Worry creased her face as she approached me. "What happened? Are you okay?" she said, sitting in front of me. She reached up and placed her hand on my forehead. I silently savored the coolness but also felt another wave of nausea overcome me. I felt guilty for her loving me. I had to know if she truly loved me or if she was only a victim of my voice like so many others.

"Christine. . . ." I whispered. I reached up and pulled her hand from my forehead, placing it in her lap. Her touch made me feel worse. "Are you sincerely in love with me? Or is it my voice that keeps you lingering?" My eyes watered slightly and I blinked the tears away.

She looked at me, shocked. "How could you think I don–"

I quickly cut her off, placing my hand over her mouth and yanking it back as soon as I had. "Please. . . . Just answer my question."

She looked slightly hurt at my attempts to keep from touching her. "I do love YOU, Erik. Not your voice. Never question that. . . ." she trailed off at the end. "What made you think it was only your voice?"

I sighed and wrapped my hands around her wrists. "Christine, I feel like you should know more than you do. I wasn't entirely truthful in my story I first told you. I feel like I must tell you everything. Christine, I need you to know every daunting memory of mine before you will truly understand."

She nodded slowly, her mouth agape. "Are you sure. . . . ?" she asked quietly.

"Yes." I truly meant it. I felt very uncourteous leaving her with nothing to know about me but my name and an overview of my past. I wanted her to know every haunting detail about me.

"Please listen and please listen closely because if I must repeat myself, it will be quite tedious."

She nodded again and folded her legs up to her chest, resting her head on her knees.

"I do not remember much of my birth. Not even the date of my birth. The only information I do recall is my birthplace. Boscherville, France. I remember my mother's dearest friend Marie Perrault. She was at the house most of the days along with Father Mansart. I was kept in solitude in the attic of our house. Marie had given me my first pleasure in life. She tied a string of bells to the side of my cradle. Even being a new born I played repetitive melodies with those bells. The most memorable event I can recall before turning 12 months old was when our pet spaniel, Sasha, made her way up to my room for comfort during a thunderstorm. She knocked over my cradle. I flew from my resting spot and Sasha pranced over to me. She pressed her nose against my face and my hands. She befriended me.

Mother caught sight of our bonding and tried to get her out. I remember her yelling and Sasha disappeared from my side. I had to find her again. I had managed to pull myself forwards, progressing towards Mother and Sasha. My mother backed away from me. I desperately pulled myself towards Sasha. She had watched me warily yet curiously. I finally reached her and grabbed her paw. She growled at my sudden advance. I managed to pull myself into a sitting position and reached out uncertainly towards her face. I spoke my first word that night and I don't believe my mother was at all disappointed that it was 'Sasha' and not 'Mama'."

Christine looked at me intently, a small smile on her face. She seemed fascinated with my story.

"When I was three months old I had began walking and talking. I actually slept with Sasha quite often, curled up beside her in her bed. Even though Sasha acted more like a mother to me, I still called my birth mother 'Mama'.

By the age of four, I was reading the Bible with beautiful clarity and mastering exercises on the piano and violin. I climbed like a monkey and nothing was out of reach for my groping hands. I dismantled Mother's clocks multiple times and would throw appalling tantrums at my inability to put them back together.

I was fascinated by figures and from the basic principles Mother taught me, I formed complex calculations which she could not follow, but I would patiently explain them to her. I discovered my grandfather's architectural library and spent several hours pouring over the wondrous sketches of Abbe Cordemoy and Laugier, Blondel and Durand. If I was not supplied with paper, I would sketch on the flyleaf of the books, on the reverse side of my plans, and sometimes on the wallpaper on the side of the steps.

I managed to take a pair of needlenose scissors and carved an intricate castle into the polished mahogany of Mother's dining room table. She turned the house upside down looking for those scissors but she never found them."

I smiled slightly. But was replaced by a frown. "I was quite unable to distinguish right from wrong though and I could draw like a seasonable artist but I could not -- would not write. Mother tried to beat me into submission but I had a will of iron that would not be bent and a temper which often reduced Mother to violence.

Music was the main outlet of my genius though. I could not sit at the table without unconsciously beating time with my heels against the back of my chair or tapping a rhythm on my plate with my knife. Mother would slap me every time, but it would only temporarily cease my tapping.

Mother used to sing operatic arias to pass the hours and when I heard her voice I would stop whatever I might be doing and go to sit by the piano in wondering silence. Shortly before I was five Mother started to allow me to take over the accompaniment. If she failed to master a difficult tonality I would cease playing, point out the offending note, and sing it back to her with perfect pitch."

I glanced at Christine to see if she had lost interest yet. She continued to watch me closely. She nodded, gesturing for me to continue. I took a deep breath.

"One day Mother was leaving to go to Sunday Mass with Mademoiselle Perrault. I had held the doorknob to prevent her from going. I wanted horribly to go see the organ and choir Father Mansart always told me about. She told me I must stay home. I continued my questions about the church. Was it beautiful? She claimed it was quite ordinary and was filled with villagers who would be unkind to me and frighten me. I pursued my act of trying to convince her to let me go. I sat on the steps patiently. She told me to study my text and copy it out. I refused and she was angry. She claimed she wasn't interested in what I wanted to do. I told her firmly: "I'm not going to study my text. I'm going to make it disappear so that you can't find it . . . like the scissors. I can make anything disappear if I want to . . . even a house!" I then ran away for I feared she was going to beat me again. I ran to the drawing room and sat on the rug in front of the fire with Sasha. I gazed into the flames as I heard Mother walk in. She decided not to go to Mass. I was quite satisfied with my doing and stated: I knew you would."

Christine had seemed to scoot closer to me, her mouth slightly ajar. I smiled and reached out to her, stroking her cheek once before dropping my hand.

"I started to learn to hypnotize with my voice, luring Mother towards my attic room. She caught on and put the operatic scores away for good, refusing to teach me any longer. Mother refused to leave the house for Mass afterwards. She didn't want to be ashamed in public. So Father Mansart started coming to our house for a private Mass every Sunday.

One Sunday, he heard me sing and claimed if it wasn't for blasphemy he would have said he heard the voice of God in that very room. I was ecstatic and triumphant. The priest walked me to the piano and wanted me to sing Kyrie. Mother interrupted us, slamming the lid shut. She started sobbing uncontrollably. My heart fell and the priest took her to a chair and sat her down. I started weeping as he spoke to her. She told him I was not permitted to sing again. I tuned out their conversation and watched as my mother went to the bureau and took my drawings from it, handing them to the priest. He believed them to be copies. Mother convinced him otherwise and he sat down and stared at me in awe.

I already explained to you what incident occurred on my fifth birthday and I don't wish to repeat it. But that wasn't all. I had no idea what a birthday was so Mother patiently explained it to me. I thought it to be like a requiem. I was rather confused. I was upset that there was not a Dies Irae or an Angus Dei. She told me there would be a supper which we had never shared together and a present. I said no more and gazed at her thoughtfully. She told me to go change while she set the table. I asked her if she would give me a present too. "Of course," she responded. She wondered if there was something particular I wanted. I was afraid to answer her. I asked her if I may have anything I wanted and if I could have two. She wondered why I needed two. "So that I can save one for when the other is used up." I had stated. She asked what I wanted but I was still afraid to answer.

She started to get angry with my silence. I finally found the courage to say "I want – I want two . . ." That was all I managed to spit out before she snapped. She wondered what I wanted two of."

I paused. The next part was particularly painful for me. I looked up and noticed Christine was sitting between my legs and leaning in towards me. She gave me the courage to continue.

"'Kisses.'" I had whispered. "One now and one to save." Mother stared at me in horror and burst into uncontrollable tears and sank down at the table. "You must not ask that." she sobbed. She told me to never, ever, ask that again. I shrank away from her noisy grief in horror and backed away to the door. I asked her why she was crying and she denied it. I was filled with rage. "Yes you are!" I had shouted. "You're crying and you won't give me my birthday present. You made me ask – you _made_ me ask – and then you said no." I claimed I didn't want a birthday anymore and I hated birthdays. I rushed up to my room where I stayed the rest of the night until I was called down for supper and . . . well . . . you know what happened after that."

I looked to Christine to make sure she remembered. She nodded slowly.

" After Marie had finished nursing my wounds that night, she sat beside me as I tried to sleep. Shortly before dawn I awoke from a terrible nightmare, screaming. It was only one of the many nightmares I had throughout the day and every one I woke up screaming in fright of the monster in the mirror . Marie left me and not much longer my mother came up. I reached desperately for her, crying for her. I told her I didn't feel well and she told me to go to sleep and I would feel better in the morning. I clutched at the coverlet in alarm. "I don't want to go back to sleep," I panted. "If I go to sleep it will come back . . . the face! The face will come back!". She tried to comfort me. She didn't seem to understand how much that face had frightened me. I sobbed ferociously, staring in to my mother's eyes for reassurance. She told me the mask would make the face go away. I was intrigued and questioned if the mask was magic. She said yes and that she had made it magic to keep me safe. I was reassured and started to calm down. She handed me the new mask that fit more properly than my previous one had and I clumsily put it on with my bandaged fingers.

She got up to leave and I grabbed for her skirts. I begged her not to leave me in the dark. She showed me the candle she left in the room but I refused to let go. She sat back down on the bed until I fell asleep.

Father Mansart was a friend of a professor in Paris who was intrigued by a number of drawings Father had given him. Professor Guizot was his name. He tested me with tedious quizzes, boring me with them. He was shocked at my genius as well. He agreed to teach me privately at my grandfather's house in Rouen. I dreamt of spending five years studying architecture at the Villa Medic as a pensionnaire of the French Academy.

A few months after Professor Guizot had started instructing me, I asked Mother for a mirror. She reluctantly brought me her small hand mirror. I asked her if I took off the back if I would still be able to see _things_. She inform ed me I wouldn't and I was glad to know it had a safe side. I asked permission to look at the inside of it. Mother allowed me and I would discover that it was just a silly strip of tin foil on the back of a piece of glass I didn't understand that it reflected what peered into it and I believed it transformed its visions into monsters. I was curious of how it worked. I was convinced it was magic. Mother finally got me to see that what appeared in the mirror was what the beholder appeared to be. I did not scream in understanding but rather took it in silence. I wanted the mirror to keep and Mother allowed me t oo. I broke the mirror into a dozen pieces and laid each one intricately on the chest of drawers in my room. When she asked me why I explained that it made bet ter magic that way. I proceeded to prop the pieces of glass above a drawing at angle which produced a strange and distorted maze of reflections. I told her she was wrong about mirrors a nd you can make all kinds of magic with them.

I begged Marie to go buy me a glass cutter, glass and tin with money I had stolen from my mother. I pleaded that she kept it secret. Mother found out but was not angry . She bought them for me, presenting them to me at the end of the week. I worked all day trying to make a mirror but when my mother returned to my room that evening I was rigid with fury at my failure. I decided to ask my Professor. I discovered I was missing mercury but Mother refused to give it to me.

One morning Father Mansart came and told Mother about my nightly escapes I had been making for about a month and the previous night I had snuck into the church and played the organ. She was furious and I cringed in fear, expecting her to slap me in front of the priest.

Father Mansart told me I must stop and what I was doing was foolish and put us in danger. He stated that if it continued there could be reprisals. I wondered why the men hated me . Father said it was because men feared what they didn't understand. It was then I discovered men hated me and feared me for my face. Father took my arm demanding we pray but I refused. "Why should I? God doesn't listen to me." I was sent to my room and it was decided that I would be boarded and bolted in my room.

That night I listened as village boys pelted rocks at my window and our house shouting to bring out the monster so they can see.

Mother soon met Monsieur Barye. This angered me when I discovered them walking together. I wouldn't let her pass until she told me who the man was she walked with alone. She told me he was a friend. I told her I didn't wish the friendship to continue and she screamed at me. To this very day I remember the exact words she told me. . . ."

I paused and Christine reached up and took my hand, giving it a squeeze.

"'You do not wish?" she had screamed. " How dare you speak to me like this! You ruined my life the day you were born – ruined it. . . . _ruined_ it! I hate you, I hate the very sight and sound of you . . . your devil's face and your angel's voice! There are plenty of angels in hell, did you know that? I wish to God you were there with them, where you belong. I wish you were dead, do you hear me? I wish you were dead!'"

I let a few tears escape my eyes as my voice broke at the end. I glanced at Christine and she silently sobbed, my hand on her trembling lips as if she were using it to muffle them.

"All I could do was stare at her with a wretchedness that was utterly beyond tears. . . . "I hate you too," I said with a pained surprise. "I hate you too."

Monsieur Barye insisted Mother put me in an asylum. Sasha was at an old age and dying and Mother didn't know how to tell me so she had Father Mansart do it. He asked if I knew she was surely going to die soon. I said yes and that I knew God would take her to live in heaven and we wouldn't be separated forever.

Father then proceeded to tell me that, though God had compassion for all his creatures, it was to man alone that He had granted an afterlife. Animals have no soul . . . .

It was silent before I screamed in grief and rage, smashing my mother's clock into the hearth and grabbing the coal tongs. I lashed out at the priest, shrieking terrible obscenities. Mother tried to get between us and I struck her full force on her shoulder. The priest drug her out and left me in the room to tear it to shreds. Little did I know they thought I was possessed and he would perform an exorcism the next day.

Afterwards I refused to continue the voice lessons that had previously given us both delight. I performed my disappearing tricks, claiming it was the work of a ghost.

The two of us, Mother and I, were slowly approaching a dangerous precipice. After she claimed I smashed a cup by tying a silk thread to it – I had the thread in my hand when she caught me – I still claimed it was the ghost Father Mansart tried to send away. She shook me wildly, my mask dislodged itself and fell to the floor. She screamed at me to stop and finally let go of my arms. I quickly replaced my mask with shaking hands. I was terrified.

"What would you do," I whispered, not looking at my mother, "if I were no longer here?" She told me she would marry Doctor Barye and he had already asked her and I was all that prevented the marriage so I better take care and do as she said. She tried to make me promise no more flying or disappearing objects would occur again. I leapt out of her grasp and ran to the door. "There is a ghost," I told her steadily. "There is a ghost here, Mother. And it's going to stay with you forever and ever!"

After that incident I discovered my birthday present from so long ago. A copy of _Le Ventriloque ou L'Engastrimythe._ I learned ventriloquism from that book and convinced Mother her wooden carving of a shepherd boy was the baby she truly wanted. I convinced her to leave Doctor Barye. I asked her if I was helpful if I could stay. She agreed happily, content with her new 'baby'.

Marie became suspicious when Mother asked her if she wanted to see the new baby. I told her it would be best if she left, pulling her out of the house. I played concertos for my mother by memory as she lavished the wooden boy in her arms.

I worked endlessly, creating masterpieces. Sasha had come up to me, whining for attention. I picked her up impatiently and shut her outside in the dark garden.

It was dark when I finally laid my lead down with a sigh of exhausted satisfaction. I glanced over to the hearth and check in surprise. "Where's Sasha?" I demanded with concern. Mother reminded me that she was in the garden. I didn't recall placing her there like Mother had said. I told her she shouldn't put Sasha out into the garden at night and that it was too cold for her since she was old.

I heard a dull whining outside the door which changed to a frenzy of barking as Sasha deserted her patient vigil on the doorstep and rushed to the gate.

"Look!" I heard a voice. "There's the monster's dog!" My heart dropped and through the window I saw the glare of lanterns. A few moments later, stones began to rain in the direction of the gate. When Sasha gave a yelp of pain I jumped to my feet and rushed to the door, Mother making it before I did. She tried reasoning with me but I was livid and would not listen. I threw her aside and rushed out the door. I yelled at them in rage telling them to leave and threatening to kill. A man reached for Sasha and grabbed her. I pushed through people as they slashed out at me, trying to injure me. I punched a man out of the way, feeling a sharp pain below my rib cage as I approached him and watched as Sasha's barking rose to a crescendo and ended in one long, piteous howl as another man twisted her neck, killing her.

I shrieked in demented anguish. "I'll kill you! I'll kill _all_ of you!" The men turned and left us. I stooped down and picked Sasha up, sobbing. I struggled back down the paved path to the door where my mother stood. She stretched out her hand to me but I pushed past her and went to the kitchen, my shoulders shaking with the harsh violence of my sobbing.

My mask had been torn off in the struggle and my flesh was slashed in several places. Blood slowly trickled into my eyes, blurring my vision and burning my eyes. Mother tried to get me to back away from Sasha but I refused. "I must bury her," I said with despair. "I must bury her and sing her requiem." She tugged on my shoulder and told me I couldn't. "She _will_ have a requiem!" I sobbed. "A requiem to take her soul to God!"

I swayed to my feet and carried her to the garden. I struggled to dig a grave for her while my mother watched. I refused to accept her help.

When it was done I stumbled back to the house and collapsed on the sofa in the drawing room. I felt my mother rip open my shirt and search for the source of the blood that pour from my torso. I heard Doctor Barye in the open doorway. In a single stride he was beside Mother at the soda and leaning over me. Mother asked if it was serious and he probed the wound with his expert fingers. I bit my tongue in pain. It had missed the lung. The man claimed I was lucky.

I lay very still, watching the man with guarded hostility. I asked if he was Doctor Barye and he smiled in agreement. "Why are you helping me?" I asked. His response was he was a doctor. Its his duty to help those who require his skills. He told me I was brave and he was going to give me something to help me sleep.

I accepted the draught without a murmur of protest and soon my breathing had become even and my eyes started to close wearily.

I listened vaguely as they spoke. I remember him speaking of an institution again and Mother denied it. She refused to send me away. Everything after that was left unheard.

I awoke in the middle of the night and decided it would be best if I left. I broke the wooden baby into bits and threw it in front of my altar of mirrors. It reflected back in them as a whole shepherd boy. I wrote a small note across the glass. 'Forget me.'"

Christine had tear stains on her cheek and so had I. I reached up and rubbed my hand over my face.

"That's enough for today." she said quietly. I looked up at her, curious. "You are exhausting yourself."

I sighed and nodded in agreement. She leaned forward on her hands and knees, her face inches from mine.

"Thank you for telling me, Erik." she pressed her lips to mine in a passionate kiss.

When we broke apart she wrapped her arms around my neck and I buried my face in the base of her neck.

I finally let myself go. All the pain I held with my past: I let it out. I sobbed quietly as we sat together.

Maybe Christine may not ever understand. I hoped dearly that a better realization of my past may help her realize what she has gotten herself into.

**A/N: WOW! This thing is long! I'm really afraid it's bad though. ): Please review and let me know! I spent hours on this thing. Haha. Thank you for reading and I'm soooo sorry if you're disappointed.**


	11. Chapter 11: No Turning Back pt 1

**A/N: Here's Chapter 11! I apologize for all the grammar and misspellings. I tend to write these chapters at 11 o' clock at night and today I get to write before supper! :D Yay! Enjoy! And thank you for reviewing! You are all incredible. (: This chapter gets into the darkest of Erik's memories. **

**WARNING: SOME CONTENT MAY BE SEMI AWKWARD AND OFFENSIVE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO or any of Susan Kay's work.**

Chapter 11: No Turning Back pt. 1

I sat still and watched as Christine desperately tried to do something with her hair. It was a rather silly thing to do. I thought she was beautiful as she was. I stood up and walked over to her, keeping a solemn face as I approached her. I looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror from behind her. I looked into her eyes and then at her hands twisting her hair.

I reached up and wrapped my hands gently around her wrists, pulling her hands away from her curly locks and pinning them to her side. I leaned in and kissed her ear.

"You are beautiful without these trivial attempts, Christine." I whispered in her ear. She inhaled deeply and I felt goose bumps rise on her arms. I trailed my hand up her arm and to her breastbone, pulling her close to me. I rested my other hand on her stomach and she leaned her head back against my shoulder.

"Why must you always attempt to seduce me?" she asked. I gasped in mock offense and pulled her hand up to my lips.

"Why Mademoiselle, I am quite the gentleman. I would never be intentionally seductive." I kissed her knuckles and lowered her hand again.

She giggled quietly and turned around to face me. "Have you thought about it?" she asked.

I racked my brain for a millisecond before realizing what her inquiry was about. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. "Christine, I would prefer it never to happen. . . ." I started, the image of a conceiving Christine burned in my mind. I knew I was lying. But I also knew better than to cause her anymore grief with a hideous babe. "I will continue to think, but you must give me time. I am not denying you, nor am I giving in. You must also try to see the reasoning behind my proposition."

Her face dropped slightly. I reached up and cupped her cheek, stroking the softness of it with my thumb.

We stood in silence, basking in each others presence.

"When will I get to hear more about you?" she asked quietly. I thought back for a second to where I had left off. I was still unsure about whether or not to tell Christine about the time I had with the gypsies.

"Whenever you feel you are ready." I replied. She would have to know about it eventually.

"Right now." she said, eagerly. She pulled me towards the bed. She scooted over to the far side and stretched her legs out in front of her. I sat down beside her crossing my arms and stretching my legs in front of me as well.

"Don't leave anything out." she said as her foot absently played with mine. I took a deep breath and sat forward, pulling a pillow into my arms and hugging it.

"I remember it was pitch black the night I ran away from my home in Boscherville. There was no moon and as I pushed through the dense undergrowth in the birch and pine forest of Roumare, clumps of nettles stung my hands. I usually wasn't very clumsy, but that night my head was clouded with a haze of laudanum and I stumbled and fell several times. The wound beneath my rib cage had began to bleed again with the exertion and I was aware of a warm stickiness seeping once more beneath my shirt; but I did not stop. I pushed on and on – as though my life depended on it – without knowing how or whither I fled.

I wasn't afraid of the dark anymore. I had long since learned to love the kind veil that shielded me from hating eyes.

There was no plan, no coherent thought, in my head, just a deep instinctive need to get away, far, far away, from my mother's home. Sasha's death had not only shown me that my mother would never be safe while I continued to lie under her roof.

When the dawn had come, I found a spring where I could drink, and built myself a shelter out of branches and leaves. It was hardly the work of a great architect, but it shut out the knifing winds of the freezing Norman spring. When it was finished, I crept inside and lay there through several risings and settings of the sun. I was exhausted enough to have slept through the pain of my body, it was the pain in my mind that kept me awake, the pain of words which cut deeper than any metal blade.

Freak of nature.

Monstrous burden.

A place where you can forget.

I thought of my mother. She was free now. Free to be with Doctor Barye. They would go away together to a place where no one knew her, where she could forget me and be happy.

I wanted her to be happy. She was so beautiful when she had smiled at the statue of that shepherd boy. That was why I made it sing for her – so that she could be happy and smile and not want to send me away to that asylum. I never meant to make her mad. When she first began to rock that empty cradle in the attic bedroom, I was afraid that she, too, might be sent to that terrible place of which she spoke of. So I made everyone else go away instead. Father Mansart, Doctor Barye, Mademoiselle Perrault . . . I made them all disappear, one by one. I can make anything disappear, if I really want to. Anything except my face . . ."

I felt Christine's head on my shoulder and her hands wrapped around my arm, hugging it. I rested my head against the top of hers.

"Even in my earliest memories my mother was always cold and remote, like a beautiful distant star, always beyond my reach. I think I was born knowing that I must not touch her, but it was a long time before I understood the reason for her revulsion and hatred. Even when she dragged me in front of that mirror and showed me my face, I did not at first understand. I thought the horrendous thing in the glass was some nightmare creature sent to punish me for my disobedience, and for a long time I was afraid to remove the mask in case it came back to haunt me.

Hunger drove me at length from my shelter, forcing me to push on through the densely wooded area, walking by night and sleeping by day. An ironic quirk of fate had blessed me with astonishing powers of recovery," my hand drifted to where the wound from my brawl with the Viscount had been. "And the knife wound had healed to a crusted brown weal which had encouraged me to discard the doctor's bandages. His prompt treatment had prevented infection. He had probably saved my life, but I did not see that as a thing I should have been grateful for; indeed there were many times when I had come to hate him more for that single act of pity than for anything else.

I was not accustomed to hunger. In her half-crazed insistence that I should eat and not remind her of a starving skeleton, my mother had constantly set before me an obscene procession of dishes. Food was forced upon my like a punishment; it was as though she had sought to atone for some past neglect in this respect that filled her with perpetual guilt. I had developed sleight of hand at a very early age, simply as means of conveying this unwanted food to Sasha, beneath our table – and I often thought of heaven as a place where no one would need to eat again. But that was before I truly understood what it meant to starve. I had had nothing but water for nearly a week and I had been lightheaded with a desperation that was driving me steadily back into the inhabited world.

When darkness fell once more I left the shelter of the forest and ventured out onto the open road, where a blaze of lanterns beckoned welcomingly. Lights meant people, and where there were people there was also food that might be stolen.

It was the gypsies camp that I had stumbled upon.

A group of horses had been tethered to a post on the inner ring of the settlement and their warmth and beauty momentarily swayed my purpose. I reached up instinctively to caress one smooth, velvety nose and that had been my undoing, for the horse whickered nervously at my unfamiliar touch and at once a restlessness passed through the peaceful tethered animals.

Suddenly lanterns came at me from all sides. Instinctively I dropped to the ground and hid my face with my arms, bracing myself against anticipated blows. I was grabbed by the shoulders and dragged along the frosted, leaf-mold floor to the enormous campfire which flicker and flared against the clear spring night. And there I was flung at the feet of quite a small man with a jet-black moustache and a single gold ring dangling from one ear, who prodded me urgently with his foot.

"Get up." he demanded. I quickly scrambled to my feet and looked around frantically for some avenue of escape, but I soon saw that I was completely surrounded. The man thought I was a thief. "Do you know what we do with thieves?" he asked. "Little thieves who won't show their thieving faces? We roast 'em, like hedgehogs . . . and then" he leaned forward and pulled me close to his dirty face – "and then we _eat_ 'em!"

I saw no reason to disbelieve his threat and my frightened gasp brought out bellows of delighted laughter from all who surrounded me.

"Better show your face then, hadn't you?" he continued. I clutched hold of my mask in defiant terror, aware of the curious anticipation on all of the faces that were rosy-hued by the firelight.

A woman told the man to leave me alone, that I looked like I was starving. She told him to give me some food and let me go and that I had done no harm. The man doubted me, wondering what I was doing hanging around the horses if I was innocent. He suggested they turn out my pockets and see what I had stolen.

Another man suggested they took off my mask.

Others joined and started to chant the cry and I was passed around the fire, from hand to hand, desperately holding on to my mask.

Fingers began to fumble at the temple of my mask and I began to kick and scream wildly.

I begged them not to remove it. The gypsies insulted me wondering if I was a Bourbon prince who missed the tumbril. One asked if I had blue blood, suggesting they cut open a vein and find out.

My arms had been pinned behind me and I struggled violently to free myself. I remember a strong hand came down beneath my chin and tore the mask away; and suddenly there was a deathly hush broken only by a single Romany oath.

In the terrible silence I saw them all staring at me, on their faces a mixture of expressions ranging through utter disbelief to fear. "Let me go," I had whispered faintly. "If you let me go I promise I won't come back."

They started to close in on me like wolves. I saw the flash of a night in the firelight and screamed, for I suddenly knew that it was all to be endured again – the mindless violence of an angry, unreasoning mob.

Then everything went black and I knew no more of what they did to me that night."

I stopped and felt Christine's hand entwine with mine. She squeezed my hand slightly, urging me to continue. _Well, if she's not terrified yet, she will be soon enough._

"I awoke the next morning to find myself laying on a pile of sacking inside a cage. I lay back down quickly and shut my eyes, begging for it to be a dream. I waited to wake up in my attic bedroom with Sasha lying at my feet. I licked my swollen lips and tried to call out for her. I heard someone tell a man to fetch Javert. "Awe what's the hurry?" the other man asked. "Let's have some fun with it first. What are you scared of? It can't get out." _It!_ I thought.

I lay still, willing the nightmare away. When the sharp piece of wood splintered against my forehead, sending a shower of pricking specks into my eyes, I tried to crawl out of their reach, but they simply pursued me to the other side of the cage. There were two boys with dirty faces and black hair and a little girl in a torn dress, who hung back and began to cry. She told them not to hurt me – _it_– like that. They told her to shut up or they would put her in the cage with me.

I heard the crack of a whip and a huge shadow casted over me. Without waiting to be told, the children fled across the camp, possessed by one shared, instinctive fear; and as the door of my cage was unlocked, I turned to look up at my new master.

My first impression had been of one size – immense size. He seemed to fill the entire cage, an enormous man with a great paunch of a belly which hung grotesquely over his tight belt. He bore no resemblance to any of the small, slender, rather graceful men I had seen around the campfire the night before; he did not look like a Gypsy – but he looked every inch a rogue. His eyes, sunk in a fat face which glistened with sweat even on that cold spring morning, were narrow and infinitely cruel as they rolled over me in a critical fashion.

"Remarkable," he has said. "I've waited all my life to find something like this. They'll come from miles around to see a living corpse. Yes, that's it, that's what I'll call you – the Living Corpse." I backed away from him against the bars of my cage and slumped down in a crumpled heap against the cold metal rods. I told him I had to go home. My mother will be looking for me. He snickered and asked if she would have my little coffin all made up for me. "Coffin?" I has asked, staring at him without comprehension. "That's where corpses sleep, isn't it?" he replied obligingly. He decided he would make a coffin prop for my cage for heightened effect.

And with that he locked the cage once more and left me staring after him with a dull stupefaction. My mind had been quite blank, as empty as a worm's perhaps. A numb, frozen mass that flatly refused to perform the simplest feat of reasoning. I didn't understand any of those few words that had been spoken to me in my native French – he might as well have spoken Russian. I did not understand why I was in a cage or what was going to happen to me, but I had sensed sufficient threat from the man's manner to be thrown into a mindless panic.

I started to claw frantically at the lock.

In other circumstances, with a calm, rational brain and a single hairpin, I could have easily freed myself in minutes, but there was nothing in the cage to have served my purpose, even if I'd had the presence of a mind to look. That single clumsy lock had the power to reduce me to total impotence. I hit and bit at it like a wild animal, and not once in all the time that followed did I ever return to attack it with the full force of my intellect and my extraordinary manual dexterity. Even after all these years I am still unable to explain that strange mental paralysis, except to acknowledge that the mind is capable of erecting barriers far stronger than any physical fence. Such is the key to all illusion, and God knows it was a key I learned to turn often enough on others. For me, at that moment, the illusion of captivity was so complete that even had he left the door unbarred I sometimes wonder whether I should not still have sat there, staring through the bars, like a hopeless chained animal who knows no better than to wait patiently and endure.

The children came back with their sticks, but I fear they found me poor sport, for this time I made no attempt to escape from their tormenting. I let them draw blood with indifference, almost without feeling, and receiving no response, they soon grew bored and drifted away to more lively entertainments.

I was fed often but it was such a disgusting stew. The first night Javert had brought it and a patched blanket to me, pushing them through the bars. I asked him if I could please go home. I was like a very small child, repeating the only phrase in its repertory; and when I continued to repeat it day and night, he grew angry and struck me.

"Can't you say anything else, you stupid creature?" he spat at me. "Now, get this to your addled brain – if you have a brain at all, which I'm seriously beginning to doubt – you're _my_ discovery, _my_ creation, and _my_ fortune! They tell me you won't eat – well, I've trained too many animals to fall for that old trick. You'll eat of your own accord, or I'll force every mouthful down your ugly little throat by hand. You're not going home – and you're not going to die on me, either, have you got that, you witless little monster? You'll do as you're told or you'll suffer for it, understand me? Now, pick up that bread and eat it – _eat_, God damn you!"

He caught hold of my head and began to force the rough, grainy bread into my mouth until I gagged and retched; but strangely, instead of angering him further, that merely served to make him very calm and coldly determined.

I do not know how long this torture lasted; it seemed like hours. The stars were winking in the sky and he was as soiled and stinking as the floor of my cage, before I reached the limit of my endurance and capitulated to his physical strength and his unwavering determination. When I finally took the piece of bread from his hand and began to nibble it wearily, he stood up and wiped his hands on my sacking bed.

"I like an animal that knows its master," he said with sick satisfaction.

When he came to me next day I did not make the mistake of refusing to eat or asking to go home, but asked instead what he intended to do with me. He seemed surprised and told me he was going to exhibit me.

I stared at him in horrified disbelief. "They will pay," I had stammered, "pay to _look_ at me?"

He told me of course and they would pay handsomely too. A flood of revulsion swept over me and I began to shiver and vomit uncontrollably. He cursed at me irritably and stormed out of the cage. He told a nearby child to fetch some milk. He turned and glared at me telling me I'd better keep it down or he would beat me senseless.

I did not answer.

I knelt on the floor and began to pray silently that God would let me die before this terrible new shame was forced upon me."

I shook slightly in anger at the memory, biting my lip and staring at a flame flickering on a candelabra. I heard silent sobs from Christine but chose to ignore them. I knew she would be horrified before I was finished.

"I began my life as a freak exhibit with my hands and feet bound to the bars of the cage, so that I could not hide me face from the prying multitude. My first appearance had been a disaster that produced something dangerously close to a riot when the angry crowd demanded their money back; they could see nothing because I cowered in a corner with me arms wrapped around my head. They insisted they had been cheated and Javert – fearful of impending violence – promptly sent two men into the cage to bind me.

I screamed and kicked and bit like a wild animal, but I was no match for the strength of two full-grown men, and within a few moments I was secured with my arms at full stretch, like Christ on the cross, so that it was impossible for me to turn my face from view. Javert entered the cage and tied a rope around my neck so that I was forced to lift my head from my chest. As my skull jerked back against the iron bar, I opened my eyes involuntarily and saw people stepping back in delighted horror.

"Mother of God!" exclaimed a woman, pulling a screaming child into the shelter of her skirts. "Let us pass . . . for pity's sake let us through!"

The crowd parted a little to allow her to drag the hysterical infant away, but the other children had began to scream and I could not take me eyes away from their open, shrieking mouths. It was as though I saw myself once more in that mirror and shared with them all over again the horror of that first sight . . . but no horror could compare with the burning degradation, the unspeakable humiliation, of this obscene exposure. Panic numbed all other senses and I began to twist and pull like a frantic unbroken horse until the rope cut into my throat.

"Look!" someone had shouted. "It's going to strangle itself!" . . . "How disgusting! Such things should not be shown in public."

A new ugliness was rapidly infecting the crowd. The had paid good coin to be titillated and entertained, not disturbed and discomfited. My raw anguish was offensive to some, and once more Javert was faced with angry demands to return the viewing fees.

My cage was hastily withdrawn from view. I do not know how much money I cost him on that occasion, but it was sufficient to bring me to him a little later in a towering rage. He whipped me savagely for ruining his exhibition, but at the very moment when blessed unconsciousness promised to embrace me, he cut me down from the bars and stood over me with his arms aggressively folded.

"Well? Have you learned how to be silent now . . . or do you need a further course of instruction?" he asked, coldly.

I lay at his feet, staring in disbelief at the huge weals that were rising on my bare arms; my head spun and there was blood in my mouth from where I had bitten my tongue. But there was only one thought in the back of my head, only one desire.

"Give me back the mask," I whispered. He stared at me curiously.

"The mask. . . ." I had repeated dizzily. "Give me back the mask . . . please!"

Suddenly, without warning, Javert began to laugh, slapping his whip against his gross thigh and then leaning forward to poke me with the crop.

"Now, you listen to me, little corpse, and listen good. No one's going to pay to see a bloody mask, but half the women in France will swoon at the sight of your face. Don Juan himself could not have drawn more skirts in one afternoon. But I won't have any more of that cursed screaming so be warned. You drive away any more customers as you did today, and it'll be a bad lookout for you. I'll flay every scrap of skin off your miserable body if you behave like that again in public." he spat.

I clenched my fists and stared up at him in a crazy defiance. "I won't be see. . . . I won't be stared at. . . . I won't. . . ._I won't!_"

Surely, I thought, he would kill me now. He would bring down his great fist and smash my suicidal impudence to pulp. I waited desperately for the end that would release me, but he did not strike me again. Instead he regarded me thoughtfully, as though he measured every lesion on my body and weighed it against the time when I could be exhibited once more. He decided upon gagging me to keep me quiet during the next show.

Next day we moved on. I did not know where we were going, nor did I care; time and place had ceased to have any meaning for me. The next time I was exhibited I was gagged and bound in an upright coffin, in a position where it was physically impossible for me to do myself harm. I was silent now, and this time no one complained or wanted their money back.

I was an enormous success, Javert told me with great satisfaction, when he came that night to feed me like a trained dog. When I had learned to be sensible, he would remove the gag and permit me to earn my keep with a little more comfort. I watched him put the key to the lock in his pocket and walk away whistling cheerfully and I thought how much I hated him, how I wished he were dead.

The gag defeated me, as Javert had known it must. His violence and cruelty concealed an innate shrewdness, a crude, instinctive sort of wisdom that showed him new and more subtle ways to conquer rebellion. It wasn't long before I came to accept that I was only adding to my suffering by my own stubbornness; and, though my flesh still crawled with revulsion when the crowds pressed around my cage, I learned to display the silent indifference of a dumb animal. That was what they wanted, what they came to see—an animal, an oddity . . . _a thing!_

Increasingly I ceased to feel that I belonged to what is loosely termed as the human race. It was as though I had tumbled onto some alien planet where I found myself unable to take revenge upon my tormentors except in the dark prison of my mind. There, in that uniquely private domain, where I was free of chains, I conjured a thousand horrible deaths for those who came to prod and stare. I learned to live almost entirely in my mind, creating a landscape of my own and peopling it with the devices of my captive imagination. My world was strange and beautiful, an entirely new dimension where music and magic held sway. It was a second Eden, where I alone was God, and at times I retreated so far into it that I became indeed a living corpse, comatose and trancelike, scarcely breathing.

And yet, however far I retreated, there was always a part of me that remained bitterly aware of reality. My mobile prison jolted me across the length and breadth of France, from one fair to another, and I was kept in conditions of animal squalor until I feigned sufficient obedience and resignation to suggest that my spirit was entirely broken. Humility was the price of those moments of privacy which basic human dignity demands. My mother had taught me to conduct myself like a gentleman, to be fastidious in my person and courteous in my demeanor. I could not bear to live like an animal.

I begged to be allowed out of the cage, to attend to matters that demanded privacy, and this request so amused Javert – that mannerless pig! – that he came to release me in person and stand guard over my ablutions with his pistol. I knew that if I made any attempt to escape he would shoot – not to kill, no I was too valuable an exhibit for that—but to maim sufficiently to ensure I should not get too far before he caught me.

When I demanded clean clothes he laughed out loud and told me he had never known a corpse so particular about its shroud. "You'll be wanting a dress suit next," he sneered. "Quit your bleating, you draw good enough crowds as you are."

I turned very slowly to look at him. "I could draw more," I said, driven by desperation to sudden boldness. "I could draw twice as many people—if you made it worth my while."

He lowered his pistol and beckoned me nearer; his instinct was to mock, but his own inherent greed made him curious. "What blather is this?" he demanded cautiously. "You're the most ugly creature that ever walked God's earth—that's your livelihood and my good fortune. Why else would anyone want to pay to see you?"

I knew it was a bold move to make but I had nothing left to lose. "If you place lilies in the coffin with me . . ." I said slowly, "I could make them sing."

He pushed the pistol into his belt and rocked to and fro on his heels, bellowing with laughter. "God help me, brat, you're a raving lunatic. You'll be the death of me, I swear it. Going to make lilies sing, are you? And just how are you going to do that, I'd like to know?"

At that time—before I turned my attention to my own setting—I still considered Bach's Mass in B minor to be the worthiest interpretation of the Latin text. It was from that composition, so beloved of Father Mansart, that I now chose the Agnus Dei which apparently issued from the petals of a wild daffodil beside Javert's boot.

Without emotion I watched Javert's fat face sag in disbelief as he bent and plucked the flower at his feet. He held it to his ear and I heard his sharp gasp of astonishment when I let my voice ring sweetly in his head. He changed ears and abruptly my voice changed direction; he threw the withered bloom to the floor and walked away from it and I tapered the sound accordingly so that it seemed to him my voice had grown distant.

Then he came and stared at me intently, placing a think, dirty finger on my throat and starting violently when he felt the faint vibration of my vocal cords.

He rambled about how I hid this from him and how he would get the lilies even if he had to raid a churchyard grave.

He suddenly had become aware of my pointed silence. "Well?" he demanded uneasily. "Why that mum, codfish look? Cat got your tongue, has it?"

I stared at him in defiant silence and he immediately began to bluster like a bully who senses the first scent of defeat. He demanded to know 'what was going on in that twisted little head of mine'. I shrugged my shoulders and turned away.

"If I agreed to sing," I told him calmly, "there would be conditions." He got angry and caught my by the neck and pressed his huge thumbs against my windpipe in a strangling grip. He threatened that he could slit my throat then and there. I slowly began to smile; and I suppose the utter absurdity of his empty threat must have been instantly apparent to him, for even as he spoke he let me go. He asked what my conditions consisted of.

"I won't sing without the mask and I won't sing in a cage," I said, steadily. "If you want to make a bargain with me, you can begin by giving me my own tent."

He was furious at first but suddenly seemed to recover from his stupefaction and became oddly practical. "Impossible. How could I trust you to stay?"

I stared at the floor to hide the tears which were suddenly stinging my eyes as I gazed squarely into the bleak future.

"I have nowhere to go." There was an edge of weariness and resignation in my voice. "Give me privacy and a little comfort and I will stay and make your fortune in return."

He pointed out that even if he agreed to my conditions, the crowd still wanted to see my face. I agreed to remove the mask at the end of the performance but only for a few minutes, just long enough to shock.

"I could beat you to a pulp, but I couldn't make you sing—that's it, you little rogue, isn't it, that's what you're telling me?" he asked.

"No," I told him grimly, "you couldn't make me sing."

We stared at each other like wary enemies, and after a moment he made an abrupt gesture for me to accompany him to his tent, striding off across the field and resisting the temptation to look back to check that I was following.

For the moment I was the victor.

It was then I gained my first ounce of power.

Once I had begun to seek it actively, power came to me in many curious and unexpected ways. My period of instruction in the wise-woman's tent had sparked an acute interest in the herbal properties she sold at all the summer fairs. She had remedies for every conceivable human disorder; and since anything that caused the human race to suffer was inevitably of consuming fascination to me, I began to study her skills with stealthy industry. She was ugly enough herself to be largely untroubled by my presence, and I think she was flattered by my questions. But when I began to experiment with tried and trusted remedies, she was furious and threatened to put a curse upon me. I think that would have been an end of my tuition, but that same night she was stricken with a fever that yielded to none of her proven recipes. The rumor went around the camp that she was dying of a deadly contagion and with cold and pitiless logic the tribe repitched their tents at a safer distance.

"Surely someone will go to her," I protested uneasily.

Javert would say there is nothing to be done for a mortal fever and it's only common sense to keep away.

A strange fury gripped me, a fury that owed virtually nothing to pity, but a great deal to mortal impotence and complacency. There was no better was to raise a demon in my brain than to tell me a thing could not be done.

Impossibility was not a concept I acknowledged.

I got up quietly, without breathing a word of my intention, and crossed the void to the old woman's tent.

I could see as I looked at her that she was in a very bad way and I felt the same frustration I had once experienced when I dismantled my mother's clocks—unbelievable irritation in the face of my own inadequacy and limited competence.

Well . . . I had learned very early to master the mechanism of a clock. And I would not be defeated this time either—not by some miserable pestilence invisible to the naked eye!

I was not moved by any feeling of common humanity or affection. This was simply a challenge I could not resist.

While the old woman lay moaning on her pallet, completely insensible of my presence, I pulled out the ancient copper pans and began to heat an infusion of my own. . . ."

I paused and looked down at Christine. She was tracing the veins in my hand.

"She lived. The infection spread all over the camp, afflicting almost half of the sturdy Gypsy children, who had seldom known a day's illness in their lives. Those who were treated with the traditional infusions died; the three who were treated with mine lived.

A story went around the campfire that I was the scholar of ancient Gypsy legend, the tenth graduate of the College of Sorcery, who had been detained in payment to serve as the devil's apprentice. It was said that I knew all the secrets of nature and magic and that I rode a dragon which dwelt high in the mountains of Hermanstadt and slept in the cauldron where thunder was brewed.

The changes in my status was remarkable. Small children no longer threw stones and chanted names when I appeared. If I passed by their tents in the daytime, they would run away from me, as though I were the devil in person, shrieking for their mothers, who now used my name as the ultimate threat to enforce obedience.

_Power!_

I was beginning to acquire quite a taste for it, to see it as a very satisfactory substitute for happiness . . . for love.

It was Javert who told me the legend of Don Juan and added the great lover's name to the odd collection of nicknames with which he delighted to address me. At first it was just another insult, no more hurtful than anything else; but as I grew older, and more aware of the meaning of his mockery, I began to hate that name of Don Juan more than any other.

One night he pranced into my tent and leaned over me, breathing vile spirit fumes into my face. I could see at once he was drunk—and when he was drunk, he was dangerous; I knew I would have to take care.

He fingered the mechanism I was working on and an unseen spring snapped shut on his finger. He cursed at me and blamed me for this incident. He began to get suspicious, stating I was very good at arranging accidents. He noticed that many little misfortunes befell him whilst I was around.

I was silent, wondering with alarm whether he could really have guessed just how much mischief I was responsible for. Silly, irritating, commonplace misfortunes that I had thought him incapable of connecting with me.

I looked up into his face, saw with terror that he knew everything, and waited for the punishment to fall.

I didn't have to wait long.

Abruptly he snatched the mask from my face, slashed it to pieces with his ugly knife, and flung the pieces at me. Then he stared at me.

"No tears?" he frowned. "You disappoint me, little corpse. And surly you know better by now than to disappoint old Javert."

He reached out and struck me repeatedly across the face with the back of his huge hand, but I remained silent, staring at him with dry-eyed loathing. And at length, remembering that I was to perform that night, he abandoned his attempt to make me cry.

He asked me when my birthday is. I shivered slightly at the memory of shattering glass and told him it was never spoken of.

"Well . . . I daresay there was nothing much to celebrate. It's a miracle no one dropped you on the fire before you drew a breath." He assumed I must have been eleven or twelve and I nodded, wondering where this strange line of questioning could be leading."

I stopped abruptly. I shivered slightly and my stomach sunk. This was by far one of the worst memories I have had. Christine squeezed my hand in consolation.

"He determined that in about another year or so, if I kept drawing in those crowds, he would pay me a wage. "Of course, it would depend on whether you continued to give satisfaction—on stage and off, if you take my meaning. I like boys who know how to show off their gratitude . . . in a manner of speaking."

I stared at him blankly. "I don't understand," I had whispered.

"Don't worry, you will." He laughed and cuffed me playfully around the ear. "Yes, you'll understand, all in good time. You're very clever, I grant you that—a sight too clever for your own good at times—but you don't know everything. There's a thing or two that I can teach you when I've a mind to do it. And if you're willing to learn, if you're willing to _please_ . . . well, you might find me very generous."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but his tone and soft, almost feline manner made me cold with apprehension. This curious amiability cloaked in an unknown threat as yet beyond my comprehension, and I was afraid to ask anymore questions. I had the feeling that for once I did not want to know the answers.

He sucked his bleeding finger, spat upon the earthen floor, and sauntered to the flap of the tent. In the doorway he turned to look back at me and there was a curious expression on his face.

"I had never had a corpse before," he mused.

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my ignorance and my fear."

**A/N: okay so I seriously hope you guys don't hate me for this but this chapter is soooo long and there's even a part 2. I just couldn't find a good place to end it. x.x**


	12. Chapter 11: No Turning Back pt 2

**A/N: Here's pt. 2! It gets a bit dodgy in the middle but I promise it's not M rated material. Haha. Just beware. Herein contains Erik's deepest darkest secret.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Still. (:**

Chapter 11: No Turning Back pt. 2

Christine looked at me in horror, squeezing my hand rather tightly. I reached up to caress her cheek.

"I waited nervously during the following months for this nameless disaster to overtake me, but my life continued as before and nothing worse befell me than the beatings with which I was already familiar. I had learned to accept physical pain with a show of indifference. If my performance was not perfect, if I crossed my master with a casual, unconsidered word, I knew exactly what to expect. But my split skin and bruises healed quickly and I was careful never to make a mistake more than once. I had learned how to survive.

At some point during the following year we crossed the boundary into Spain, traveling steadily in the direction of Catalonia. The annual fair at Verdu had been a traditional meeting place for Gypsies since the fourteenth century, and an atmosphere of suppressed excitement permeated the camp at the prospect of emotional reunions with blood brothers. At night the tents and wagons disgorged their occupants around the campfire, the fiddlers struck up a merry refrain, and the Gypsy girls danced for their menfolk, weaving in and out of the flickering light, trailing long scarves over bare, suntanned arms . . . graceful . . . _sensual_. . . .

This was the time I had learned to love above all else, when the magic of the Gypsies unfolded before my eyes as I lay a little distance away, watching, listening, absorbing, yet silent and unseen, like a snake in the dry grass. Their culture was a universe removed from the respectable middle-class existence I had known before, a life steeped in the love of music and governed by an instinctive, abiding respect for the forces of magic and mystery. To a Gypsy every stream, forest, and hedgerow is peopled by invisible sprites and demons that must be constantly appeased by incantations and charms. The occult holds a powerful grip and fortune is determined by the turn of a tarot card. I was fascinated by the secrets of divination and enthralled by their music, which opened up new vistas to my formally trained ear. It was music that acknowledged no artificial boundaries. Dispensing with chords, transition, and intermediate modulation, its freedom was utterly intoxicating.

I listened and I learned and all that I absorbed found expression in the secret world within my tent, in music or illusion. No part of me was untouched by their inspiration, but I did not acquire those heightened concepts of beauty and mystery without pain.

I had been a solitary child, content with my own company, neither knowing nor desiring companions; but now I looked out upon a very different world, a world of gregarious, tightly woven people, who were not forbidden by unspoken taboos to touch each other in public or be public in that touching. Every evening I watched them together, fighting, laughing, loving, made the awareness of my own difference increasingly sharp and hurtful, threw a cold new light on my inner misery.

Perhaps, if I had not trembled among Gypsies, I should not have been made aware of the female form at such an early age; perhaps I should have enjoyed a few more years of sexless, boyish innocence. Gypsy women are not light a lascivious in their way—virgins are highly valued and only to be bought for an acceptable bride price. But love, once sanctified by marriage, was not a private thing and couples embraced freely around the campfire, displaying their pleasure in one another's bodies without shame. That spring in Verdu, it seemed to me that the whole world was pairing off together, sharing a universal secret that would always be closed to me. And suddenly it was not enough to be the devil's apprentice, the star turn of an increasingly famous traveling show.

All I wanted was to be like everyone else.

While the wedding celebrations were at their height, the fiddles throbbing with that extraordinary love of life with is so peculiar to Gypsies throughout the world, I slipped away into black, shapeless night and stole what I needed from the wisewoman's tent.

I could live with cruelty and hatred; it was the happiness of other's that I could no longer endure, the sudden realization that none of my talents was ever going to win me acceptance as a human being. My tent might be comfortable now, I might be free to come and go as I pleased, but in all essentials I still lived in a cage, surrounded by invisible bars. The world wanted nothing from me except the gratification of the sensory organs of sight and sound.

I was alone and nothing was ever going to change that.

I figured perhaps it was time to leave this world behind."

I paused to look at Christine. She had continued to trace the veins in my hands again.

"The night was dry and still, silent except for the far-off throb of fiddles and the gentle whirr of crickets in the tall grass. Enormous moths hurled themselves at my lantern and bounced off my mask as I fled away from the settlement, where the Gypsies danced with growing wildness as liquor began to flow more freely and the flames of the campfire leapt up against the black Spanish sky.

When I was certain no one could see me, I tore off the mask and threw it at the crescent moon which gleamed pale and uncaring upon my frenzy of grief. Then I sat upon the dusty road and examined the little bottle I had stolen from the wisewoman's tent. It contained sufficient poison to kill the whole camp. I did not intend that there should be any mistake over the dosage.

Unscrewing the little glass stopper and checking at the bitter aroma which emerged, I hesitated. The magic talisman of death was in my hand—my skeleton's hand—and all that prevented me from using it to escape from this nadir of despair was the sudden nagging relic of a memory I had thought long discarded.

Father Mansart's homily on the deadly sins of murder and suicide had been impressed on me at an age when most children are struggling to master the Credo. Murder and suicide, he had told me grimly, were equal crimes in the eyes of the Lord and brought an undiscriminating damnation upon the perpetrator. The suicide lies in an unhallowed grave and the gates of heaven remained closed to him forever.

"_Life is never ours to take, Erik. If you remember nothing else of what I have taught you, remember that._"

They were virtually his last words to me after the exorcism and I had stared through him, as though he did not exist, pretending I could not hear a word he said.

But now I remembered and I gazed at the poison in my hand with horror. Suppose it was true that by this act I closed the door on one suffering merely to open another leading to one infinitely worse . . . and this time without natural end?

Appalled by the possibility, I flung the little bottle to the ground and watch the dry earth swallow up the liquid that trickled out. A sense of hopelessness washed over me as I bent mechanically to retrieve the mask, but before I could replace it I was startled by a cry in the dakrness behind me.

I stopped and listened intently and once more the voice wavered out in the darkness, this time on a low moan of pain. Moving instinctively in the direction of the sound, I climbed a rocky outcrop, unfaltering and fearless with my cat's eyes and the peculiar agility which had once caused my mother to liken me to a monkey.

On the other side of the rocks the lantern showed me a crumpled heap of brightly colored skirts and a pretty face that was familiar to me from the campfire.

I called her name and she looked up at me and screamed with an ugly, piecing intensity that took me by shocked surprise; I had forgotten for the moment that I was no longer wearing the mask.

Her screams jangled every nerve in my body and I was suddenly overcome with blind fury.

"Stop it!" I snapped, shaking her wildly by her thin shoulders. "Stop that screaming or I shall do you all the harm you fear and more!"

That had silenced her. She swallowed her screams with a sort of gulping sob and cowered back in my grasp, like a terrified rabbit in the jaws of a wild dog.

I let go of her contemptuously and asked her where she was hurt with cold indifference. She was shaking violently and her teeth were chattering with fright but she managed to indicate her left foot, which I saw was twisted at an unnatural angle.

I asked her if she would let me look. She was too frightened to refuse. Over my Gypsy garb I still wore the long magician's cloak that I affected for performances. Removing it, I tore a strip from the bottom and then wrapped the rest of the robe around her shoulders, for it was bitterly cold beneath the clear mid-April sky and her skin was chill and moist with shock. I felt the broken bone in her ankle at the first probe of my fingers and immobilized the joint as best as I could. She fainted when I touched her, though whether from pain or sheer terror it was impossible to tell. I wasn't unduly concerned or surprised, and at any rate it made my task that much easier.

When I had finished, I sat down on a nearby rock and waited for her to come to her senses. The light of my lantern traced the curve of her breast and a thought came to me that I hastily pushed away in disgust. I did not touch her; and after a while the urgent desire to do so ebbed away, leaving me calm and cold once more, entirely in control of my body. That first adolescent stirring of desire was fierce but transient, and I felt curiously triumphant at having mastered it. I was suddenly quite warmly disposed to this girl who had made me feel that I need never fear the ravages of love. Lust was nothing special after all, simply a rush of blood, an animal instinct that I could contain and control, just as successfully as I controlled my voice. This girl was pretty but I did not love her," I felt Christine tense as I talked about Dunicha, the woman. "so perhaps God had been merciful after all and not made me as other boys; perhaps I would never love anyone, I thought. Elation and reliefhad surged through me at the thought and I wished she would wake up so that I could begin to thank her for this wonderful sense of release. Lust was nothing, and I did not love her. I did not love her and I no longer felt the need to die of crushing misery. Everything was going to be alright after all.

She opened her eyes upon me face and looked hastily away with a shudder. She told me she had never seen me before without the mask. I told her in surprise that she must be the only person in the camp who had not then.

Fear returned to her eyes. I sighed and picked up the mask, which lay beside me on the ground, replacing it with a gesture that had become second nature to me. I told her she had nothing to fear, that I would not harm her.

She sat up a little, her eyes still wary upon me, but her breath coming with greater ease as the mindlessness of her terror abated. I asked her what she was doing out here alone and why she wasn't at the wedding feast. She told me it was none of my business.

I stared at her in honest disbelief, for I suddenly saw there could be only one explanation for her absence.

"You have been meeting a lover?" I breathed in awe. "A _gorgio_ lover?"

She glared at me. "And what if I have?" she asked.

"Your father will beat you and drive you from the camp if he finds out," I said uneasily. I knew there was no worse crime a Gypsy daughter could commit than to betray her proud race with a gorgio. Mixed blood was deeply frowned upon.

When her angry bravado abruptly disappeared and she burst into tears, I did not know what to do. She told me he promised to marry her. She told me she hoped his manhood shrivels and drops on his wedding night.

I was glad then that I was wearing the mask, for I knew I had turned furiously red with embarrassment. Three years among the Gypsies had not hardened me to their healthy, unashamed vulgarity.

"They will come looking for you soon," I told her. "They must not find you here."

I leaned forward to give her my hand, but she recoiled in disgust.

"Don't touch me!" she spat unexpectedly. "If you touch me I shall scream until the whole camp hears and comes to find us!"

I was stunned. We had conversed like human beings; now suddenly I was an animal again. Then, as I looked at her face in the light of the lantern, I saw the sly, secret smile of satisfaction cross her lips, I suddenly understood her purpose.

"No one will believe you!" I gasped. "No one will believe it was I who lured you to this place."

"Oh, you didn't lure me," she said simply. "I was taken by force."

I was afraid, yes. "In silene?" I inquired with trembling sarcasm. "Without a single cry of protest?"

"I fainted—from terror." She was staring fixedly into the distance, as though she were watching a play being acted out in front of her. "Who would doubt the truth of that?"

No one, I admitted to myself with cold horror. No one would doubt her. I had cultivated a reputation for evil out of all proportion to me years. No one now was going to waste any time wondering whether I was too young to rape a pretty girl.

I backed away from her, shaking my head in slow disbelief. Then panic overwhelmed me and I fled back the way I had come."

I stopped and grabbed Christine's hands, tugging on them. She looked up at me and I reached over, hooking my arm under her legs and scooting her closer, pulling her to where she sat between my legs. She looked at me confused and I shook my head, wrapping my arms around her tightly and resting my chin on her shoulder as I continued.

"I was sobbing with rage when I reached the tent. Grabbing the few belongings I had accumulated over the years, I rolled them into a sack, with a feverish desperation that seemed curiously at odds with my earlier mood of suicidal despair. Once she told her tale, I knew that I would wear the dead man's shirt. Forgetting their individual fears, the entire camp would rise up against me to take revenge for such a violation. I was not afraid of death anymore, but I was still sufficiently a child to fear the protracted torture that must precede it. They would do terrible things to me . . . indescribable thing. . . .

I was so wrapped up in my own terror that I did not hear the footstep behind me until it was too late.

A hand fell heavily on my shoulder.

"Well now," said a familiar voice in my ear. "What's all this haste? Leaving, are we . . . leaving dear old Javert without so much as a by-your-leave?"

He twisted me around to face him, digging his fingers into a point on my neck which caused me paralyzing pain. The soft menace of his voice and the narrow intensity of his gaze held me breathless with fear.

"Leaving without a word of gratitude after all I've done for you," he continued thoughtfully. "Looked after you like my own flesh and blood and now you think you'll up and off. Oh, no, my dear . . . I don't think so. You don't escape from old Javert as easily as that."

As his free hand ripped the buttons from my shirt I gave a gasp of shock. The shameful nameless horror that had been hovering above me like a breath of foul air had now descended so unexpectedly that I was powerless to struggle against his strength. As I watched him take off his belt I knew instinctively this was to be no simple beating—this was a terror as yet beyond my imagination.

Hid hand slid caressingly down my body beneath the open shirt and I shivered.

"How cold you are," he complained. "As cold as the dead, ice water running in your veins. But no matter, I shall soon warm you." Saying those words aloud now is repulsive.

I begged as I jerked away from his hand and he laughed as he forced me to the floor.

I began to fight in earnest then, with a savage desperation I should not have employed simply for my life.

"That's better," he told me with strange satisfaction, "that's much better. You're surprisingly strong, aren't you? I see I could not have delayed this last little lesson much longer. No one else will ever want you as I do—" I heaved at the words, cringing and hiding my eyes in the base of Christine's neck again. I spoke into her soft brown hair. "'Certainly no woman! Do you know that?" he told me. "Do you realize the great honor I'm about to do you? No . . . of course you don't. Proper little innocent you are, for all the tales they tell about you around the campfire. Pure as driven snow in spite of all your clever tricks. Well, not for much longer. This, my dear, is the end of y–"

Christine's hand shot up to her ears. "Stop!" she yelled. I pulled my hands away from her quickly. I heard her sob hysterically.

"I'm sorry." I apologized.

I waited while she sobbed until she was ready for me to continue. Her sobs reduced to quiet gasps and she groped around for my hands. I gently took them in mine to stop her frantic search and gave each one a squeeze.

"Would you like me to go on?" I whispered in her ear, kissing it afterwards.

She sniffled a little and nodded.

"I had stopped fighting and lay perfectly still, watching him discard his dirty clothes on the floor beside me.

"I see you've decided to be sensible," he remarked. "That's good, that's how I like it. A healthy struggle to whet the appetite—and then, a little accommodation."

"What must I do?" I had whispered hollowly.

"Take off your clothes and the mask and then . . . I'll show you."

I sat up warily, controlling my senseless panic. No sudden movement, nothing to cause him alarm. I saw him relax visibly at this evidence of my weary resignation. When he turned away carelessly to kick off his boots, my hand closed on the hilt of the knife that was protruding from beneath his discarded belt.

I waited just long enough for him to turn back to me, then I plunged the knife up into the obscene, wobbling mass of flesh which concealed his gut. I was shocked and thrilled by the extraordinary intensity of my pleasure as I felt the knife slide effortlessly between th layers of skin and buy itself up to the hilt.

I watched Javert's eyes bulge in incredible disbelief, him mouth sag and quiver on a soundless gasp, his hands clutched helplessly at the fountain of blood which spurted from him when I calmly removed the knife. I gazed at the crimson torrent with dispassionate, almost academic surprise; it was as though I had burst a skin of wine. There was time to wonder at this curious phenomenon . . . there seemed to be all the time in the world.

He was on his feet, lurching desperately toward the flap of the tent, when I sank the knife into his ribs, this time striking jarringly against bone. His hands closed over mine as I jerked the blade free, but his strength was draining rapidly away and he could not hold me. I swung my arms free in an arc and brought the knife down for the final time, implanting it square in the hollow of his throat.

He fell like a stone at me feet. I stared down at his mutilated body with panting ecstacy and watched his jerking death throes without a flicker of remorse or revulsion. It had been so easy and so incredibly satisfying that I could hardly believe my good fortune. Five minutes ago I had been an innocent, terrified child; now I was a man, with a remarkably efficient murder to my credit.

I felt intoxicated with power as I wiped the blade clean on Javert's shirt and tucked it inside the sack which still lay on my pallet. Quietly, unhurriedly, I gathered up the sack and made my way to his tent, where I quickly located the leather bag in which he kept the profits from my performances. There was nothing furtive or frightened about the manner in which I crossed the camp and calmly took my favorite horse from the tethered group. I no longer feared discovery; no man would lay a hand on me again and live to boast of it. I was leaving now because I chose to leave; and I left not in fear for my own safety, but in contempt for my past weakness, my childish terrors, and my spineless despair.

_The end of innocence._ . . .

I had outgrown the limitations of this petty little tribe of wanderers; I no longer needed the dubious protection of a perverted villain. My childhood was at an end and the world beckoned to my unique talents. I had only just begun to explore the vast empire of my mind, and now its frontiers stretched ahead of me like a far horizon. I wanted to consume every note of music ever written, to absorb all the world's knowledge, and master arts as yet unconceived by humanity. I no longer needed boundaries . . . wherever I found them in the future I would tear them down, forging in my wake new wonders to astonish poor credulous mankind. Creation—and destruction—were the only lusts I would acknowledge henceforth. Or so I thought. I would be like God, an absolute force; beyond question . . . beyond restraint. . . .

_The end of innocence. . . . _

Like Adam I had eaten of the tree of knowledge and been condemned, in consequence, to wander the face of the earth. But my Eden was full of cruel nettles and vicious thorns. . . . I could not look back on its loss with any regret. The chains of conscience with which a parish priest had sought to shackle me were broken now beyond repair. Losing the fear of death, I had lost all respect for the lives of others. Tonight I had been made to see that life was cheap and easy spent, a poor cowering creature of the daytime that could be snuffed out as easily as a candle's light.

Death was the ultimate power and I his eager, willing apprentice.

Murder was only another art for me to master!"

I finished my story and Christine shook slightly. I lifted my hand and turned her chin to face me as I leaned around her.

"I'm sorry . . . I should not have told you all of this. . . ." I said solemnly.

She just turned around in my lap and wrapped her arms around me, forcing me back on the bed. She lay there, curled up next to me, not speaking a single word.

I may not ever know what she was thinking. Maybe now, she understands. . . .

**A/N: OMG MY FINGERS HURT SOOO BAD FROM TYPING!!! Let me know what you thought. This chapter really makes me nervous. Please tell me if you like it.**


	13. Chapter 12: I Am No Fool

**A/N: Alright! So I'm definitely sick which gives me so much more time to write (: yay? I totally sneezed 25 times in a row. Hahaha I counted! It was crazy. Maybe that's a record. Here's chapter 12. I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom.**

Chapter 12: I Am No Fool

That night, I lay still in Christine's arms, watching her groan and twitch from an apparent nightmare she was experiencing. I feared that I was the one who caused her suffering.

I ran my hand through my hair. Perhaps I had told her enough. If she did not understand by now, I doubted she ever would.

I shifted through my thoughts. I knew I would not tell Christine any more of my past. Not for a while at least. I also felt that my managers thought I was no longer a threat. That is somewhat true. Christine has softened me up far beyond my liking. Maybe it was time to show them I was serious again. I knew she wouldn't approve of it, and I'm sure after my last revealing story of my past, she would surely run from me. But something had to be done.

I got out of the bed, leaving Christine to sleep. I rolled up my pants legs and started over to the lake. I knew it wasn't the cleanest thing but I had put my feet in plenty of times and no 'monster' ever came near. I sat on the edge of the lake, putting my feet in the cold water and glancing out through the portcullis.

I admit, it would be nice to be able to walk the moonlit streets of Paris again. Perhaps that is what I shall do tonight. Christine seemed to be getting plenty of sleep now and would surely stay awake long enough for me to take her to a dark memory of mine.

I hadn't returned to that house since I left. I didn't know if it even was still erect. Maybe returning would help me let go.

I watched curiously as a small fish swam up and showed some interest in my toes. I grinned slightly as he nibbled on my foot.

A reflection other than mine appeared on the lake and the fish swam away, frightened. I frowned and looked up at the woman disturbing my contentment.

Madame Giry sat beside me, looking at my feet dangling in the water.

"My goodness." she said in her heavy French accent. "That mustn't be very warm."

I absently wiggled my toes. "It is not unpleasant." I said, leaning back on my hands.

There was an awkward silence between us.

"They are brushing your letter off as a joke." she said, registering my every expression.

I scowled. "Of course they would."

"I will continue to talk to them. Please don't do anything rash until the next time I see you, Erik." she said with concern. "You know how it would affect Christine."

I remained silent. Funny how I just pondered on that subject only a few minutes ago.

"Things are settling down. They aren't particularly safe yet. Monsieurs Firmin and Andre may be ignoring you, but the constable is quite aware you are still alive."

"I'm going out tonight." I said blandly. "And I'm taking Christine."

"Did you not hear what I just said?" she asked, looking at me in confusion.

"No I heard quite clearly, Madame. But the whole navy shan't stop me from visiting old memories." I said, looking down at my feet once more.

"I understand. . . ." she said quietly before rising to her feet. "I must be going, Erik. I have a ballet rehearsal. The opera is having a full rehearsal tonight for _Rinaldo_."

"Exquisite." I said. I was going to prove I was no joke. I was and I am still the Opera Ghost.

Antoinette paused before turning and leaving. I pulled my legs from the water and walked over to my chaise to check on Christine. I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand before bending down and kissing her hair. I hesitated. I didn't want to leave her. But she surely wouldn't wake in that short of a period.

Before leaving I started to pack. I collected items we would surely need on our trip to Boscherville.

I retreated to don my cloak and shoes. I took one last look at Christine before turning down a narrow passage that took me first to my horse to leave the packaged belongings and then to the highest balcony, where the chandelier used to be.

I was shocked to see they had been working on it already, trying to restore it. I made my way around the circular balcony until I was behind the stage frame. I could see the managers clearly as they sat presumptuously in their seats. I grinned.

"A joke, am I?" my voice echoed around the theater. I watched as M. Andre jumped, covering his head and M. Firmin looked around absurdly. "I may be an apparition, so-to-speak Monsieurs, but I assure you, _I am quite real_." I paused to watch their expressions.

"Mistake me for a fool again and refuse me my rightful salary and your precious prima donna will find her fate quite relatable to her corpulent husband's."

I heard Carlotta screech. I looked down upon the mayhem I provoked before returning to the dark passage in which I had arrived.

I was halfway to my 'sanctuary', if you will, when I bumped into a large figure of flesh. I didn't understand why I hadn't known someone was coming before then. My eyes quickly readjusted to see Christine on the ground.

I sighed and reached down, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. "What were you doing? It isn't safe for you to be wandering around." I said, slightly angry.

"I woke up and you weren't there. I didn't know where you went." she said, her eyes trying to find mine.

"I have these passageways rigged with thousands of allurements that could kill you." I wrapped my hands around her wrists. "Promise me you won't go venturing off again."

"I promise." she said, her eyes still trying to find mine.

"Come, I have somewhere I want to take you." I said, holding her hand in mine. I guided her down the dark hallways until we finally came to the one I was looking for. At the end of the long tunnel, my black stallion stomped its hooves in anxiety. Christine approached him, not touching him, but regarding him with familiarity.

I reached up and stroked his nose and neck before helping Christine onto his back. I climbed on in front of her and her arms wrapped around my waist. She lay her head upon my back as the horse cantered to the rather large exit made to accommodate him.

When we were outside, I saw the sun had set and darkness started to settle in. I took in a deep breath, ecstatic to be outside once more.

"Keep your head down." I whispered back to Christine before we galloped off towards my home town.

* * *

We stopped in a forest a mile outside of a small town on the Seine River. I lifted Christine off of the horse. She looked around in confusion.

"Why are we here?" she asked, finally looking at me as I untied our accouterments from the saddle.

"This is only one stop along our route." I told her patiently.

She looked over at my horse. "Shouldn't you tie him up?" she asked, approaching me.

"He won't leave. He will always follow me, regardless of the conditions." I told her. I placed my hands on her hips and she set hers on my shoulders.

"May I ask where we are headed?" she asked. I leaned my head backwards as she started rubbing my neck.

I closed my eyes. "No." I said simply.

She sighed in defeat. "When will I know?" She stopped rubbing my neck. I leaned my head back forward and removed my hands from her waist, placing them on her neck and traced her jaw.

"Soon enough, my Angel." I said before leaning in and kissing her.

She melted under my hands and I smiled, breaking the kiss.

"Where are we going to sleep?" she asked suddenly.

"Under the stars, Christine." I said, gesturing to the sky.

She looked up at the stars scattered across the sky.

"Wow." her lips mouthed.

I walked up behind her and put my hands on her hips again and rested my head on her shoulder.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls it's splendor." I sang quietly. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against mine. "Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender."

Her hand reached up and cupped my cheek and I kissed hers.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light." I turned her around gently and pulled her close to me, my forehead resting on hers. The moon lit the small clearing beautifully and we could see each other as clear as, well . . . day.

"And listen to the music of the night."

She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine, her other hand pulling at the back of my neck to get me closer to her. I soon found myself pressing against her and against a tree. I pulled away and shook my head, smiling at her. "Christine–" I started but she covered my mouth.

"I know, I know. I apologize." she said tenderly.

I pulled her over to a soft patch of grass and lay down. I pulled my cloak off and let her use it as a blanket. She curled up against my side, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Will we make it there tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

"Perhaps not tomorrow, but the day following. It is rather far from Paris to our destination." I said, closing my eyes. We lay in silence, listening to the crickets in the grass. I was almost asleep when Christine spoke again.

"What were you doing before we ran into each other earlier?" she asked.

"Just antagonizing my wonderful subjects." I said sarcastically.

"What did you do this time?" she asked, sitting up. I reached up and entwined my hand in her soft hair.

"There was no damage done." I said quietly, tugging on the back of her neck as I tried to coax her to lay back down. "Please lay back down, Christine. I am exhausted and I wish to sleep." She determined everything was fine and curled up against my side again.

That night was the first time I had slept peacefully since I could remember.


	14. Chapter 13: Destination

Chapter 13: Destination

The next morning, I woke early and trekked through the undergrowth to the river. I knew it wasn't the best bathing spot in the world, but I couldn't stand not bathing. I stripped down and waded into the water.

I contemplated on what I planned to do once I reached my childhood household. I wanted to burn the place down and know securely that it would never haunt my memories again.

I wrapped my arms around a rock and lay my head against it, closing my eyes.

I was jerked from my reverie when I heard a footstep on the shore. I stood up quickly, ready to defend myself.

But to my own humiliation, I saw a wide eyed, opened mouthed Christine. We both yelled in surprise and I sank back into the water.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted. She had turned around, her hands apparently over her mouth. My cheeks were hot with embarrassment.

"What in God's name were you doing?!" I shouted back, feeling as if I would never be able to come out of the water and retain every ounce of my dignity.

"I-I heard the river and I came to . . . well, bathe and I-I saw you and you stood up and I'm sorry!" I could hear the embarrassment in her voice.

A few minutes of silent awkwardness and she still hadn't left. "Why in the hell are you still standing there?" I asked, coldly. "It's getting rather cold and I would like to get out before I'm reduced to nothing but a fleshy prune!"

"Sorry!" she said again before running back to camp.

I lingered in the water, trying to gather up what dignity and pride I had left before emerging.

I quickly pulled my pants on, and draped my shirt over my arms before placing my mask back on my face. I carried my shoes in my hand back to the camp.

I arrived and saw Christine sitting on the grass with her head in her hands. I sat the rest of my clothing down on the ground before going to my horse and brushing her absently.

I found it quite awkward to be in Christine's presence after that. We didn't speak to each other unless it was necessary. But I will admit that I was rather hurt by her decision to not look at me. I do believe it was my body that I saw and that I should be slightly more embarrassed. But I had gotten over it. I hoped she would too. I didn't want to sleep alone again tonight.

We traveled along the river in silence.

It started to get dark and I could not take the silence any longer.

"Why do you wish to remain silent and not speak a word to me, Christine?" I asked, stopping the horse and placing a hand on her knee. "I understand you are embarrassed but it's starting to become offensive."

I paused for a second. I didn't truly want to say the rest of my thoughts but I knew I couldn't and should not hide them from her.

"You won't look at me, either. It makes me feel hideous again, Christine." I looked down at the ground. I felt her shuffle underneath my hand and I knew she was dismounting my horse. I felt one of her hands on my cold flesh and the other on my mask.

"You are not hideous, Erik." she said, pulling the mask away. "That is not why I choose to look away from you."

I looked into her brown eyes, feeling regret for saying such madness to her. I knew she didn't think I was hideous. But I knew I was, and there was no denying it.

"It was quite unexpected for me to see you. . . ." she trailed off.

"Nude?" I asked, smiling at her fault.

She blushed. I leaned in and kissed her forehead, the tension between us dispersed. I had a haunting feeling that this was only going to encourage her to try and speed up my decision to make love to her. I groaned.

She looked up at my questioningly. "What's wrong?" she asked, combing through my hair.

I shook my head and lifted her unexpectedly up onto the horse.

"We're almost there." I said. "If we continue through the night we'll make it there within hours."

She nodded, trying to stifle a yawn. I smiled and reached up, placing my hand on hers. "It will not be long before you will be safe and sound in a warm bed, my dear." I said before leading the horse through the forest.

I few hours later we arrived on the edge of Boscherville. It was approximately an hour from midnight. Christine was lying against my stallion's neck, sleeping. She had lost consciousness just after passing through Rouen.

My legs started to feel like lead and even though I wanted to burn the house down, I couldn't deny I may need to rest before hand. I would also have to find a hotel for us to room in.

After searching for hours, I finally found an inn suitable enough for us and which was willing to accept us.

I lay Christine gently on the bed and pulled the covers over her. I would be leaving her again. But I knew better than to let her watch the horror which was about to unfold.

I stood at last outside the garden gate of the old house, staring . . . remembering. . . .

So many times, in my imagination, had I razed this building to the ground, that I was shocked to still find it standing.

How dare it stand there in all its quaint, old-worldly charm, housing a family who lived happily unaware of the grief I had suffered behind those ivy-covered walls. The tears I had shed in that attic bedroom! The lonely terror and fear of being shut away from the world forever! _I hated this house!_ I wanted to blow it and all its attendant memories from the face of the earth!

I knew now why I had come back to Boscherville—it was to remove this abominable desecration from the landscape of Normandy forever.

There was a light burning in an upstairs window, annoying evidence of peaceful occupation. I could not simply set fire to this building without rousing the wretched inhabitants from their beds. No more murders, I had promised both Antoinette and Christine; and even had I not promised, it would still have seemed a mean and shameful wickedness to kill innocent children sleeping in their beds.

As I thought of children, my hand closed around a wad of thousand-franc notes. These people would be homeless once I had gratified my morbid urge for destruction—and no one knew better than I the fate that awaited the destitute and the homeless. I would drive no French child down the dark paths of decadence which had swallowed my own youth. I was willing to pay generously for this satisfaction. Let them go away and talk for the rest of their lives of the madman who paid for the privilege of burning their house to the ground. . . .

I tether the black stallion to a tree on the opposite side of the road, and he whickered his indignation at finding himself bound. His eyes reproached me for the insult, but I dared not leave him to wander free this time. Fire is the greatest terror in the world to a horse, and a bolt of panic from him now would almost certainly cost us our lives.

Taking a pistol from under my cloak, I hammered three times on the front door and waited beneath the wooden canopy, secure in the knowledge that I could not be seen from the bedroom windows above. Anyone wishing to satisfy his curiosity would be obliged to open the door. And since there was not a man on this earth that I could not overpower with my freak strength and my singular knowledge of armed combat, I waited with a calm that was almost indifference. There was a tub of flowers growing by the front door and I reached down absently to remove a few strangling weeds that had gained a hold. It always annoyed me to see a fragile bloom struggling for space. . . .

A light showed suddenly beneath the door and I heard the familiar sound of the old bolt sliding back. A rash and foolhardy householder this, who really deserved to die for his stupidity. . . . I stood back in the shadows as the door opened, curious to see how far this incredible recklessness was going to extend. Small wonder the world is full of rogues such as myself when idiots like this invite villainy every day!

A candle wavered out over the step and I froze in horror to find that this careless, ill-advised occupant was a woman I would have recognized anywhere, in spite of the gulf of years that lay between us.

And when she turned to look at me with wide, staring eyes and one hand stealing defensively to her throat, her look of aghast recognition was also unmistakable.

"Holy Virgin!"she gasped. "_Erik!_"


	15. Chapter 14: Gut Wrenching Discoveries

Chapter 14: Gut Wrenching Discoveries

It is strange how the deeply etched habits of childhood emerge from the mind in moments of shock. I found myself automatically giving a stiff little bow, and saying with cool formality, just as I had been taught to say all those years ago: "Good evening, Mademoiselle Perrault, I hope I find you well."

Both hands flew to her mouth now. She gave a strangled little sob and burst into tears as she gestured wildly for me to follow her into the house.

I went with slow, leaden-hearted dread into the drawing room, but was spared the meeting I now feared above all else. Apart from ourselves the room was empty. The relief was so immense, the disappointment so acute, that I had to sink into the fireside chair for fear of falling. My heart was pounding so wildly, I was afraid she must hear it, and I glanced at the brandy decanter on the chiffonier with intense longing. But she was too harassed to see my need and I could not bring myself to commit the gross incivility of asking a lady for spirits. It was bad enough to have sat without invitation in her presence. I gripped my hands on the wooden arms of my chair and struggled for composure.

"Where is my mother?" I asked uneasily.

She began to cry harder than ever.

"You must know where she lives now," I persisted. "You need not be afraid, I shall not go there . . . but I should like to know."

Again the wildly fluttering hands brushing ineffectually at the graying, carroty hair, the familiar quivering lips set in a face that always reminded me of a startled rabbit's.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "I thought you knew. . . . I thought that was why you had come back. Erik . . . your mother died three days ago."

Still I sat there gripping the chair and willing away the threatening veil of darkness. Months I had spent trying to suppress that inexplicably fierce impulse to return here! Drawn by the need to set fire to this house, had I come home, driven by a primitive intuition, merely to put a torch to my mother's funeral pyre?

_She was here in this house and she was dead._

And all I could think of was the fact that I should now be able to kiss her cold cheek at last . . . that she would never be able to shrink from my touch again.

"Perhaps you would like to see her," Marie suggested nervously.

I ignored a suggestion which rocked the foundations of my questionable sanity and continued to stare back into the fire.

"Why did she come back?" I demanded. "She hated this house as much as I did. . . . Why did she come back here, of all places? Did he die . . . was that it . . . did he die?"

Marie looked at me with confusion.

"Erik . . . your mother never left this house."

I clenched my fists on the chair.

"Are you telling me that they lived here openly together—that they dared to raise more children beneath this godforsaken roof? They were to go away, I heard him say that! After the marriage they were to go away where no one knew her. . . ."

I was shouting now and Marie's face puckered into folds of extreme distress, but I could not be calm. The thought that I might have half brothers or sisters here in the very village which had driven me away all those years ago hurt more than I could ever imagined possible. I could not bear to think what cruel children would have told them of their monstrous sibling; I could not bear to think of their shame and anger . . . brothers and sisters, who had never seen me, and yet must have wished me unborn every day of their taunted lives.

_How dared they stay here!_

"How dared they!" The roar of my voice seemed to rattle the old oak beams in the ceiling, and Marie shrank back in terror.

"There was no marriage, Erik." she stammered. "Dr. Barye went back to Paris a few weeks after you disappeared and your mother never saw him again. She never remarried. She lived here in this house alone, until the last few months of her life, when I came to nurse her."

I was silenced, numbed and made utterly hopeless by this terrible revelation.

I suddenly saw it had all been for nothing—my flight from this house and all the horrors that followed, as I floundered deeper and deeper into a quagmire of unending, self-perpetuating wickedness. God wanted nothing from the abomination he had created in some careless moment of aberration . . . even that childish act of sacrifice was now reduced to bitter mockery. There was nothing left to separate my soul from those eternally damned.

And the siblings I had conjured up in a panic were just illusions . . . just illusions. I had no brother after all; I was quite alone in this empty, echoing world now . . . there was no remembered tie of blood . . . nothing! Nothing!

In silence I rose and went upstairs to my mother's room.

Candles burned on either side of the old beeswaxed mahogany bedstead, the flames leaping and flickering in the draft from the open window. This, then, was the light I had seen from the road outside . . . a light shining in the darkness to lead me home at last.

Slowly, very slowly, I turned back the sheet that covered her and stared incredulously, for the waxen face revealed on the pillow was the face of a stranger, old and altered beyond belief.

Time ravages beauty and preserves plainness. I would have known Marie Perrault in any crowd, but this withered woman on the bed I would have passed in the street without any recognition.

Death had made her ugly, shriveled the flesh from her cheekbones and sunk her eyes so deeply beneath her brow that there was now, by some last, bitter twist of fate, a real physical resemblance between us.

And as I looked at her, I suddenly understood her revulsion at last—because now I shared it!

I felt no anger or grief as I looked down upon her . . . nothing except a disgust which enabled me to forgive every act of cruelty that she had ever shown me.

Yes . . . I forgave her everything in that moment; but I turned away without touching the hands that lay stiffly folded on her breast.

I did not kiss her, now that I had the opportunity.

I knew that she would not have wished it.

And I no longer felt any desire to do so.

Returning to the drawing room, I found Mademoiselle Perrault sitting by the fire with a little sewing lying unattended on her lap. I had made the cruel assumption that _mademoiselle_ was still the correct form of address and nothing in her sad, dowdy form suggested that I had been mistaken. She got up hurriedly when I entered the room, clutching the material against her withered breast, as though it were some kind of shield against my presence; I found I could only admire the noble effort she was making to control her old instinctive terror of me.

Even as a small child I had been aware that she was afraid of me—it used to amuse me to see her twitch with nervousness whenever I came near. And yet in spite of her timidity she had always shown me kindness. I remembered her picking slivers of glass from my fingers on the evening of my fifth birthday . . . and once a long time before that, I remembered her arguing with mother, on my behalf.

They didn't often argue; no one won arguments with my mother, certainly not Mademoiselle Perrault, who always looked as though she wouldn't know how to say boo to a goose. But that night she was angry enough to have raised her voice above my mother's, and I, like the obnoxious child that I was, had crept down from the attic to listen outside the closed door.

"I don't know how you can begin to think of doing such a thing, Madeleine! He won't be four until the summer!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" my mother had retorted irritably. "I'll be back from Rouen by nightfall. I'll lock him safely in his room with the dog, he'll be all right. He knows how to use a chamber pot, and I'll leave him food and drink—not that he'll eat it! I don't know why you're making all this fuss, no one's likely to run off with him, for God's sake!"

"Well, I don't think it's right, Madeleine, I really don't . . . a child of that age to be left alone for so many hours. . . ."

The upshot of this curious conversation was that Mademoiselle Perrault came to look after me for the day while my Mother was in Rouen.

I remember it very well. With my mother's iron hand removed I proceeded to behave like a perfect little beast. I swung on the curtain rails and frightened her half to death by hanging upside down from the top of the banister. It's a good job we didn't have a chandelier. . . .

"Don't do that, Erik, dear!" she said with a helplessness that only made me swing with more vigor and daring. She always called me _Erik dear_, as though it were my given name. I used to think it was very funny and mimic her behind her back, until my mother grew angry and beat me for the impertinence.

"Please don't do that, Erik, you know your mama would be very cross if she saw you."

But Mama wasn't there, that was the whole point; Mama wasn't there and under the timid supervision of this mouse-faced lady I was suddenly free to do exactly what I wanted.

While she was washing dishes in the kitchen, I went into the drawing room and climbed up to the top of the glass-windowed cabinet. There was a box of chocolates up there, a very big box, left over from Christmas; I took off the pink ribbon and Sasha and I ate the lot between us.

A little later Sasha was sick. I was feeling decidedly odd myself by that point and before I knew what was going to happen, there were two horrid brown messes on the beautiful carpet that my mother prized so highly.

Sasha at once slunk under the table, with her tail between her legs, and I hastily followed her example. I began to cry then, for I knew that when my mother came home I would be beaten for this most heinous crime while Sasha—poor, poor Sasha—would be put out in the snow, in disgrace, for the rest of the night.

We were still huddled together under the table when Mademoiselle Perrault found us.

"Don't cry," she said kindly, when I was finally persuaded to crawl out from my hiding place. "I shall clean everything up and your mama need know nothing about it."

I remember staring at her dumbfounded.

"Aren't you going to tell her?" I whispered in disbelief. "Aren't you going to tell her how naughty I've been?"

"No, dear," she said, getting down on her hands and knees with a bucket of soapy water. "That can be our little secret, can't it? Now, why don't you be a good boy and find me some old newspapers?"

I never put another spider on her shawl after that. . . .

This nervous, anxious, well-meaning lady had taught me to respect all members of the weaker sex. She had dropped one pearl of purity into my soul, and even now, after all these years, it was still there, displacing a little of the dank, disgusting sludge of depravity. I had done many terrible things, but I had never harmed a helpless woman.

Not all women were helpless, of course. There was the khanum from my many years spent in Manzaderan in Persia . . . God knows she came closer to Allah in my presence than she ever guessed on more than one occasion! I supposed my senses were deceiving me, but there were times when I honestly began to wonder what that bitch really wanted from me. Times when I almost believed. . . but that is absurd, I flatter myself! And yet . . . perhaps there really were women like Javert, with a taste for the bizarre and the obscene.

But by and large they were unworthy prey, women, fragile creatures who already seemed created to endure too much suffering; cruel husbands, childbirth, and early death. . . . And it's really very difficult to kill someone when all you inner instincts would oblige you to take off your hat first!

"Are you still afraid of spiders, mademoiselle?" I demanded suddenly.

"Oh . . . yes!" She gave a nervous little laugh and edged away from me nearer the hearth. "Such a silly, childish thing, was it not—your mother never had any patience with me over it. Oh, dear . . . I should have been prepared for this. After all, I placed an advertisement in the _Presse_ as soon as I realized that—that she did not have very long. I hoped against hope that you would see it, but it seemed such an unlikely chance, after all these years, even allowing for the circulation of the _Presse_. . . . After all, we did not even know if you were still in France, let alone Paris. She often spoke of you, Erik. . . ."

I turned away abruptly. Did she think me a child still to be comforted by tinsel fantasies and pretty lies? My mother had hated and feared me. Why pretend now that it had been otherwise?

"When is the funeral?" I asked harshly.

"Tomorrow," Marie whispered. "There won't be many mourners . . . just a few acquaintances that she made after . . . well . . ._ after_. . . ." She spread her hands helplessly and I nodded curtly to signify my understanding. "I think perhaps it would not be wise—"

"I have no intention of attending the event," I assured her, and hardened though as I was, her palpable relief hurt me. I did not need to be told what scandalized horror would attend my presence in the graveyard. The last service I could render to my mother was to allow her to be laid to rest with the dignity that had been so dear to her.

But at least I could play my requiem for her. . . .

Sitting down at the old piano, I quickly lost myself in the music, my fingers caressing the keyboard with ecstacy. Music was the secret sanctuary of my soul; music was my god, the only master I would ever serve again.

I became aware of Marie hovering uneasily at my side, and I stopped playing abruptly.

"Don't stop," she said quietly. "That requiem is your own composition, is it not? Your mother—"

"Would have dearly loved to hear it played?" I sneered. "Mademoiselle, I outgrew my need for fairy tales many years ago."

Suddenly Marie rushed to the cabinet in the corner of the room and began to pull out sheets of my old childish designs.

"There was never a day when she did not think of you, Erik. Look, do you see? She kept everything—everything that reminded her of you."

I stared at the papers tumbling out on the floor. They proved nothing to me except that my mother was a notorious hoarder who could throw nothing away. We had lived entirely surrounded by relics of the past: Grandfather's architectural library . . . Grandmother's English jewelry . . . looking at the hearth now I could see a stack of newspapers that must be many weeks old.

Marie was ferreting in the drawers, bringing out a wad of legal-looking documents which she thrust into my hands.

"The deeds of the house, details of your grandfather's stock investments," she explained feverishly. "They were all to be left for you in a bank vault in Rouen. It's there in her will if you don't believe me."

Guilt, I thought, with a flicker of remorse for my heartlessness . . . guilt is surely the saddest of all human emotions. But guilt is not love; it is a fire that consumes without giving warmth to those embraced in its tangled coils. Poor Mother. . . .

Wordlessly I gathered up my old musical scores and designs and threw them on the fire. Then, while Marie stood with her handkerchief pressed against her mouth, I bent mechanically to gather up the newspapers and send them the same way.

* * *

I left the old house in Boscherville shortly before dawn to return to Christine, leaving my mother's body in the care of her faithful friend. Marie would keep the keys to the house and await my instructions; I trusted her discretion implicitly.

I left without returning to look one last time upon my mother's dead and unloving face. The beautiful features, delicate as a butterfly's wing, were buried safely in the midst of my memory. I could not wipe them from my mind, but there was a certain comfort in knowing that I would never see that face resurrected.

She had never existed for me outside an illusion.

She had never existed; and now at last I could forget her forever.

I returned to the inn, passing the attendant carelessly as I traipsed to the room we were lodging in. I opened the door softly and saw Christine still asleep in the bed. I kicked off my shoes and hid them under the bed skirt before digging frantically through the cabinets for a bottle of brandy. Once I found what I desired, I lifted the bottle to my lips, drinking carelessly from it until my throat burned. I walked over to Christine, carefully climbing onto the bed. I did not bother with the covers.

I was quite unsure of how long I lay staring at the cracks in the ceiling before I lost my composure. Tears streamed silently from my eyes as I bit my lip. I felt a hand reach up and wipe the tears away and I glanced over to see Christine propped up on her elbow.

I inhaled shakily and reached up to place my hand on her upper back, pulling her down to my chest to lay with me. As I quietly sobbed I cared for nothing outside of this room. I didn't wish to leave. I wanted to lay in my misery with the one person who truly did love me.

I could care less that my mother lay decomposing. She could never love me like my Angel.

My Christine.


	16. Chapter 15: Tragedy

Chapter 15: Tragedy

My mind was full of nightmares that night. I dreamt my mother was not dead and instead had opened the door herself instead of Mademoiselle Perrault. The horrifying part was that she loved me and was happy to see me home again. And then she pulled off my mask and saw my disgusting face. . . .

And she kissed it. . . .

I woke up sweating and trembling. A few tears even fell from my eyes. Christine was shaking me awake. She was leaning over me, concern plastered on her features. "Are you okay?" she asked. I didn't answer. I continued to look into her eyes, trying to find a safe place to bury myself in them. I wasn't upset about my mother's death. I was relieved, actually. It was more of the close resemblance we held after her death that haunted me. I noticed Christine had a cold rag in her hand and was dabbing at my face frantically.

I took in a shaky breath before reaching up lazily and grasping Christine's hand. I removed it from my face, taking the rag out of her hand and tossing it on the floor. I looked over at her open palm and brought it to my lips. I kissed it before entwining my fingers with hers. "How did you sleep?" I asked hoarsely before clearing my throat.

She was looking at our hands. "Fine. You worried me last night."

I turned her face so she could look at me. "What did I do to worry you so?" Surely I didn't turn in my sleep. "I didn't keep you awake, did I?"

She shook her head. "No. You were moaning and yelling in your sleep. You had me so scared I decided it would be best to stay awake and keep an eye out to make sure you were okay."

I groaned. "When was this?"

She looked away innocently. I sat up and cupped the back of her head in my hand. I leaned in close and tried to restrain myself from enticing her. It was a lot harder than I thought.

"_When?_" I whispered, seeming echoing.

I felt her shake slightly from the power in my voice, goose bumps raising on her neck.

"Before dawn." she said without hesitation.

"Why, Christine? It's surely close to noon now. You need not stay awake and protect me."

She saw I was slightly angry with her. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before my temper started to get the best of me.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, moving my face away from hers. I leaned back on my arms. "I tend to find offense when there is none intended."

She shook her head. "It is all right. I know you don't intend on being angry with me." she said quietly.

There was a knock on the door before a woman came into the room. "Room service." she announced, sitting a bottle of wine upon the bedside table. My eyes narrowed at her as Christine thanked her. The woman looked back at me nervously.

"That was rather nice of her." Christine said, standing to pour some.

"Indeed. . . ." I said, slightly suspicious. She handed a glass to me and I sipped at it absently. It tasted rather off and I passed it to be the inn's personal choice. Perhaps it wasn't aged correctly.

I watched as Christine started to pour a glass for herself. I was starting to felt rather nauseous. I knew then why the wine tasted so odd.

Things seemed to move slower as I reached up and knocked the glass out of Christine's hands. She looked at me in shock before I turned my back on her to head to the bathroom, my abdomen twisted in pain.

I leaned over the basin trying to gain control again before I started vomiting blood with a terrible, choking violence. I looked around briefly and swore when I saw Christine was there.

I should have known it was poisoned. I had studied such a thing for years with the witch doctor in the Gypsy camp. I should have been able to smell it.

I heard Christine's breath catching in her throat. I could tell she was starting to cry.

"Quit. . . . crying." I choked out, trying to breathe. I leaned over the basin and coughed up another handful of blood.

"What's happening?" she asked as I moaned in pain. I felt she had full realization of the fact that I had just saved her life by knocking that glass of wine on the ground.

"It was . . . poisoned. . . . It's eating . . . away at my . . . organs." I said. I heard a startled squeak escape Christine's mouth. It would help if I knew the poison used. I could have made an antidote.

Christine reached up helplessly to hold me steady. I didn't want her near me right now. I knew this was hurting her. I scrunched up my face in pain.

"Go away!" I panted. "I don't want you here. . . . I don't want anyone. . . ."

"Stop wasting your strength," she ordered suddenly hurt in her voice. The command rather surprised me. "Do you have any idea what you may have taken?"

"No," I muttered. "I've made no study of any Parisian toxins such as this one. . . . I don't make a habit . . . of poisoning people as a rule. It's not a form of death I find . . . _esthetically _pleasing."

Christine looked at me in agony. I shouldn't have said anything about the forms of death I so desired to use.

"Ground glass would account for the internal bleeding," I said grimly, mostly to myself. "There are various substances with which it could have been combined. Most of them produce a protracted and agonizing death. . . ."

"How long?" she inquired shortly. Hearing her pain made my heart ache.

"Those who are lucky die within forty-eight hours, but I have known a strong man to linger up to ten days on a poison similar to this."

Christine stood in silence.

"I wish to go back home. . . ." I whispered.

"You could never endure that journey in this condition." she said sadly.

"No, not the Opera House. . . ." I needn't have said more.

"You aren't well enough to even return there." she said.

"I must," I said. "There are . . . instructions . . . I have yet to give . . . And I must see . . . with my owns eyes . . . one last time."

She shook her head. "You might die on the road. Why give yourself so much more unnecessary pain?"

"The pain is nothing . . . compared to the regret . . . the _frustration!_ Christine"— my voice dropped to an exhausted whisper and my hands clenched taut with agony on the rim of the tin bath—"please . . . order a carriage . . . secretly . . . and take me back to my home tonight. . . ."

I knew she wouldn't be able to resist my desperate plea. I wanted to see my childhood hell one last time. I guess one could say I needed closure. My gut screamed in agony. I turned my face away from Christine and was convulsed once more by the agonizing retching that seemed as though it would tear me apart.

We arrived at my childhood home and Christine held me steady as she knocked on the door. Marie appeared in the door way and gasped. I desperately held in the vomit that threatened to break my composure. I looked at her sadly and she understood. She stepped aside and allowed us in. I watched as Christine looked around at the inside of my home.

I slowly tried to regain my balance as I headed for the attic stairs. Christine walked cautiously behind me, making sure I was okay. My vision started to blur slightly.

I opened the door to my bedroom and found it exactly as I had left it.

_Forget me._ The mirrors screamed out at me. I saw the wooden shepherd boy lying in the midst of them.

I sighed. I glanced back at Christine and tried to reach out for her. I wanted her near me. I didn't want to lose her. . . .

She turned to me in time to see me fall. . . .


	17. Chapter 16: Closure

Chapter 16: Closure

By dawn, I was delirious, wandering in the dark nightmares of the past.

"It was an accident,"I whispered, "it was an accident. . . . I didn't mean to make her fall. . . . I didn't want you to see. . . . Oh, Father . . . why did you make me do it . . ._ why?_"

As I felt a bottle being placed against my lips, I reached up at the arm who held it in terrible panic.

"Give me back the mask!" I sobbed. "Give me back the mask and let me go home. . . . I hate it here. . . . I hate this cage . . . this filthy cage!"

I fought with Christine like a madman for several minutes, and when I fell back on the pallet exhausted, there were tears glistening on my face.

"Where's Sasha?" I suddenly demanded with quiet fear. "_Where is she?_"

"She's here," Christine said without hesitation. "She's here, Erik, she's—she's quite safe."

I closed my eyes.

"Don't let her out tonight," I begged, twisting my fingers in her sleeve. "Promise me you won't let her out . . . promise me!"

She promised and it calmed me down.

When I had slipped from delirium into what I believe may have been a coma, Christine had me carried back to Paris. To the Opera House.

Christine desperately tried to wake me up, from what she has told me.

I recall the following night I opened my eyes and looked directly at Christine. Being at rest for that long of a period seemed to bring upon a clear thought.

"Why wasn't it this obvious before?" I said.

The next day, even though Christine demanded I stay in bed, Madame Giry paid me a visit. She sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on my knee like a loving mother would. I shied away from her touch.

"Who in Boscherville would want to poison you?" she asked.

I cracked a smile. "I don't think you fully understand, madame."

Christine sat behind me, letting me lean against her. She rubbed my neck and shoulders for me as I spoke. "Many people in Boscherville would surely want to kill me. But there is only one person who would go as far as to find my whereabouts before doing so. No person in Boscherville knew I had returned besides Mademoiselle Perrault and she wouldn't kill a spider if her life depended on doing so."

Realization hit Madame Giry like a stone wall. "Why would the Viscount think to look in Boscherville for you?"

"I am almost positive he followed us there." I said, carelessly playing with the hem of Christine's dress.

She shook her head and Christine stopped rubbing my neck. "How horribly low." Madame Giry said.

I sighed in exhaustion. Christine thinks it's still some of my coma wearing off but I believe it to simply be that I am tired.

Antoinette saw my eyes beginning to droop and stood up. "I will let you have your rest, Erik. I will see if I can find anything else about this situation."

I nodded and she bowed slightly, dismissing herself. I watched as she went before letting my head fall back against Christine's chest. I had been fighting the urge to do so for quite some time now. I closed my eyes and sighed. I was thoroughly relieved that my freakish healing body had managed to pass the poison. That must be a first.

She held me close to her, burying her face in my hair. Her grasp seemed to be desperate and somewhat needy. Almost as if she let go, I would disappear. I tilted my head back to look up at her.

"What troubles haunt you now, Christine?" I asked softly. Her arms cradled my head as she looked down into my eyes.

"I'm afraid of losing you." she said, leaning her head down so it rested on my unveiled face.

"Christine," I said sadly, reaching up and entwining my hand in her hair. "Love, I've been much closer to death than this. Living is a dangerous risk I am taking. My life is always in jeopardy because of this face."

She lifted her head slightly so she could look into my eyes once more. "Your life is so tragic. . . . You would hope some goodness will shine it's light on you. . . ."

"I have lost all hope of that, Christine."

She sighed. "I know. . . ."

We were quiet a little longer and I closed my eyes and started to drift in and out of unconsciousness.

"Erik?" she asked quietly. I cracked my eyes open.

"Yes, my angel?" I whispered.

"I understand. But I don't think I will ever fully understand the pain you have been through in your life. But I think I do have a sense of understanding. Do you know what I am trying to say?"

I smiled. "Yes, Christine. I understand."

She seemed to let out a breath she had been holding. I closed my eyes once more, a smile still on my lips. I had smiled more in the past month than I had in the past 10 or so years I've been at the Opera House.

I suddenly felt her breath on my lips and dropped my grin abruptly. I waited patiently for Christine's lips to combine with mine. Each second that slipped away only boosted my need to feel her lips on mine. I could feel an electricity of sorts between our lips. I lifted my chin up slightly, quickly closing the distance.

I remembered thinking back on my teenage years. How I had lusted for women but knew no one would lust back. I finally decided going through life that way would not be so hard.

A small sigh escaped my lips as Christine's crushed against mine. I don't know how I thought I could live without this. I felt her hand grasp mine and move it to cover where her heart was. I felt my body turning around and I found myself on my hands and knees, my lips still pressed to hers.

My right hand still covered her heart. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her backwards and on top of me.

She broke the kiss and started laughing.

"What is so funny?" I asked as she started to trace circles on my chest.

"I have no idea, whatsoever." she said, giggling.

I could help but smile at her childlike humor. I reached up and cupped her face with both hands. "Do you know what I find funny?" I asked coyly, knowing it would surely embarrass her.

"What?" she asked, still trailing her fingers across my chest, causing goose bumps in their wake.

"I find it rather funny how embarrassed you were over our little incident with the river."

She immediately stopped and buried her face in my chest, pulling my hands from her cheeks and placing them at my side.

I chuckled, and she bounced with the movement of my stomach.

I pulled my wrists out of her grasp and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." I said, lying.

She brought her face out of my chest and shook off my arms, sitting up.

I sat up with her and let my head drop.

"You should be sorry." she said sharply. I lifted my head slightly and leaned forward, burying it in the base of her neck.

"I am. . . ." I said quietly against her skin.

My lips against her skin seemed to relax her and she wrapped her hands around me. She traced her fingers up and down my back and eventually found the scars that were barely raised from my skin.

She seemed like she was about to ask me where they came from but I assume she answered that one herself.

I sighed and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her into my lap. I tried not to think of my memories of the Gypsy camp. She rested her head on my shoulder as she continued trailing her fingers across my back.

"Sing for me." I said muttered hoarsely.

She started to sing a lullaby she claims her father played for her before she would go to bed.

I closed my eyes and listened to the melody before quickly learning it and humming along. I slowly started to drift off to sleep, happy to be alive for once and in the arms of a lover who I thought I could only dream of.

* * *

Since the night I was poisoned, I expected Raoul's return. It was eminent on the horizon and I armed myself well. I kept a pistol under my cloak at all times and made sure to never let Christine out of my sight.

Christine suggested one day that we should move out of the Opera House.

"That is too hard, Christine." I told her. "I built this cavern as a shrine, if you will, to my god. My music. I do not think I can completely depart from it." I absently caressed a stone wall before sitting at my organ bench.

"We would be much safer elsewhere. Where he didn't know we resided."

I looked sadly at the keys, skimming my fingers over them as well.

I let my hands fall into my lap and sighed.

"Erik?" Christine asked, walking over to me.

I looked over at her.

"I love y–"

"DON'T SAY IT!" I heard a man's yell echo.

I jumped to my feet, knocking over the bench and pulling the pistol from my belt and turning to aim in the same fluid movement.

I aimed it at the Viscount, who stood near one of my secret passages holding a pistol of his own.

"Leave us, Viscount." I said grimly. "I do not wish to fight an unworthy opponent."

"Unworthy?" he asked in shock. "I find you the unworthy one, seeing as you stole my fiancee."

"At least I did not stoop as low as to poison a bottle of wine." I said, my eyes narrowing slightly. "Although I do believe I have much more skill in that area."

"You think you're incredible at everything imaginable, don't you?" he asked, looking down his pistol.

"Go roll with the swine, Viscount," I spat. "Seeing as that's where you would fit in best."

His face scrunched up in rage as he fired, barely missing me. I stood my ground as the bullet skimmed the air around me.

"Pathetic." I said, letting my arm droop. I released my aim on the man. "Face it, monsieur," I started towards him. "A man who cannot aim a firearm is not quite a man after all."

This brought more rage in him as he lifted his pistol once more and fired, missing again. I looked back at Christine who had taken cover behind a stone wall and was watching in agony.

"Perhaps you need to relax, Viscount. I find it to be in your best interest." I lifted my pistol lazily and fired, shooting the gun out of his hand just as he fired it.

I heard a cry of pain and I instinctively turned to see Christine grasping her shoulder.

I whipped my head around to look at the son of a bitch in front of me. I gritted my teeth, forming a scowl and aimed my pistol at his head.

"You slimy bastard." I growled scathingly through my teeth, my finger trembling against the trigger. He looked pained by what he had just done. I lowered my aim slightly so it pointed at his heart.

"I never accept a loss." I hissed before pulling the trigger. I watched at the bullet sloppily grazed his shoulder. I cursed myself for shaking. The man grasped at his shoulder before realizing I was prepared to shoot again. And this time, I would not miss.

He turned and retreated down the dark pass he had appeared from.

I dropped my pistol and turned on my heels, sprinting to Christine. She sat on the floor, holding tightly to her shoulder.

My legs gave in and I fell to the floor next to her. I saw tears streaming from her eyes. When would this pain cease and our lives together begin?

I reached up and grasped her hand, prying it from her shoulder. My breathing was ragged. From fear or rage I was unsure. The only thought in my mind was I had to stop the blood from flowing. Other than that thought, I was numb, unable of thinking anything but her.

I quickly pulled off my shirt and started tearing it to shreds. I didn't have time to find the first aid kit Madame Giry had given me. I knew of only one way to secure the bandage and it wasn't going to leave either of us with our dignity.

I reached up to the corset dress Christine had on and tore it off. She gasped in shock but I ignored it. I had to stop the blood flow.

I ignored the fact that she was topless as I started to wrap her shoulder, securing it by wrapping the makeshift bandage around her chest.

When I had finished, we were both covered in blood. Christine reached up and wrapped her good arm around my neck. I hooked my arms behind her back and under her legs, lifting her from the ground and carrying her back to my bedroom.

I set her gently on the bed before going to my armoire and digging through the drawers frantically. I knew I had a pain relieving vial somewhere.

I found it and pulled the stopper from it.

"What is it?" she asked, gasping.

"It will help with the pain." I panted the adrenaline leaving my body suceptible to pain and fear.

She took it from me and let it slip down her throat. The effects started to take place immediately and she started to fight the urge to sleep.

"Erik, I don't want to sleep." she said. I could tell her shoulder was starting to cause her less pain as she reached up with her usable hand and cupped my cheek. I blinked away tears that were forming before leaning in towards her.

I kissed her briefly before sitting next to her on the bed. "I will be here while you sleep. I promise I will not leave your side, Christine." I said, still shaking.

The need to kill that man was so strong I thought I would surely die from it. She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head on my thigh.

I tensed slightly and watched her slowly drift off to sleep. After a while, I started to stroke her hair and stare obsessively at the reddening bandage around her shoulder. I blushed slightly when I saw her stomach, remembering the only thing that covered her was the bandage.

"Love should not be this hurtful. . . ." I said quietly. I knew he would be back again. Unless he was too ashamed of himself to return. I felt guilty myself knowing that if I hadn't tried to shoot the pistol out of his hands, the bullet may have hit me instead of her. Pain I could deal with. . . . guilt I would rather not succumb to. I sighed and gently took her hand in mine, kissing it and letting a single tear drip from my eyes.

Perhaps Christine was right. . . . was it time for me to finally leave my kingdom and give up the throne?


	18. Chapter 17: Recovering

Chapter 17: Recovering

I lay awake the whole night while Christine slept for fear I might lose her. I was beginning to think that as long as Christine was with me, the Viscount would always find us. Perhaps it wasn't that we needed to move. . . .

Christine stirred next to me and stretched, immediately snapping her arm back down.

"Ow. . . ." she said quietly.

I rolled over on my side and wrapped my arms around her waist. "Try not to move too much." I said quietly.

She took in a deep breath and nestled her face in my bare chest.

"I'm sorry, Christine." I whispered.

"Why are you sorry? What do you have to apologize for?" she asked, her lips moving against my cold chest, her breath raising goose bumps. I shivered slightly.

"I shouldn't have been so careless. If I hadn't moved to shoot his pistol from his hand, the bullet wouldn't have curved and hit you." I reached up and stroked the bandage that was over her shoulder. At least it was dry and she hadn't been bleeding recently.

"I should have stayed hidden." she countered. I shook my head.

"Christine, you may think it's your fault but eventually everything that happens is tied back to me."

She started to shake her head but stopped abruptly.

"You see?" I asked. "Whatever you were going to say must have been linked to me somehow."

She looked up at me. "I was going to say it's not your fault I fell in love with you. . . ." she paused and reached up and traced my jaw. "But you're very irresistible, Erik, even when you don't believe you are."

I smiled and took her hand, kissing her fingertip. "The same applies to you."

She blushed.

"Are you feeling better now?" I asked, squeezing her hand slightly.

"Yes. It doesn't hurt as bad." she looked up and studied my face. "You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?" I guessed she saw my bloodshot eyes.

"No, but it doesn't bother me. I don't need as much sleep as you might think."

She pulled herself closer, her forehead pressed against mine. "Maybe you should get some rest now. I promise I am better."

I looked at her dubiously but gave in to her request. My eyes fluttered shut and I fell asleep rather fast.

I didn't sleep well though. I dreamt the shot Christine had endured had been lethal. How I longed to die in that dream. I felt no need to go on living without Christine. I had attempted to kill myself many times and no matter what, I persevered and was refused the gratifying numbness of death.

When I awoke, it was not calmly. I sat up in bed, sweating. I panted as I looked down at the bed where Christine was supposed to be. I threw myself out of the bed and found her sitting at my organ, looking at the music that I had composed.

"Christine, what are you do—" She pointed to a letter on my desk.

"Madame Giry stopped by. I told her what happened and she left a letter for you."

I took the letter and opened it, recognizing the slanted writing. I chuckled when the 20,000 francs fell from the letter. Christine watched with wide eyes as I squatted down and picked up the tender and held it tightly in my hand as I read the note.

_Monsieur Opera Ghost,_

_We apologize dearly for not obliging to your request. Enclosed is the 20,000 francs you requested. We hope to find you well._

_Sincerely,_

_M. Firmin & Andre_

I crumpled up the note and threw it back on the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a small coin purse and folding the bills before shoving them in.

"It's about time they started respecting me again." I mumbled.

I felt Christine behind me, her arms wrapping around my stomach and her head leaning against my back. I tossed the purse onto the desk before placing my hands over hers.

"I wish to sing again, Erik." she said quietly. "I want to perform."

I bit my lip. I knew this was coming and I hated to keep her from singing.

"When the time is right, my angel." I felt her sag against me in disappointment. "I will not keep you from your calling for much longer. Everyone knows a caged bird finds no happiness in singing."

She shook her head. "It's not that. . . . I miss the rush. The standing ovations. The stage."

I squeezed her hands. "We must wait until it is safe." She started to protest but I pried her arms off of me and turned to face her. "I don't want to lose you again, Christine."

She didn't protest but instead brought her hand up and started to caress the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch. Moments later, I opened my eyes and pulled her hand from my neck, kissed her knuckles and placed it on my bare shoulder. I carefully grasped her injured arm in my other hand, holding it at chest level and placed my other hand on her waist. I swayed her gently back and forth, humming quietly to her.

"How can you remain aloof after all that has happened?" Christine asked.

"You learn how to cope with the pain and misery. I am worried about you, Christine, but one mustn't linger on the hopelessness of life, but find joy in it. A lifetime of pain has taught me that dwelling in your misery will not always get you what you want."

Christine closed her eyes and I took the opportunity to tilt my head and press my lips to hers. I let them linger for a few seconds before I pulled away and pressed them to her forehead, my hand snaking around to her lower back and pulling her into me.

I kept my lips on her forehead while I hummed and I felt her body relaxing.

"A lifetime of sorrow has also rewarded me with our love." I said against her skin.

She mumbled incoherently in agreement and I smiled. "Life has shown me some kindness, Christine. It was in the form of you, my own personal angel."

"I thought you weren't religious." she protested.

I chuckled. "Perhaps. But it is the one word I can think of that describes what you are to me. You saved me an eternity of burning miserably in hell. At least now I can enjoy the heat knowing I had found love with you before I perished."

Christine shook her head. "Let's stop talking of all this death and sorrow, please." she said.

I nodded in agreement before removing my lips from her forehead and burying my face in her uninjured shoulder.

I could feel her head starting to droop. I assumed the pain reliever I had given her still had some effect on her. I lifted my head and looked at her. "We need to change your dressing eventually."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. Let's get it over with."

I laughed and led her over to the bed where she sat with her legs folded in the center while I searched for the first aid box.

Upon finding it I returned to the bed and sat behind Christine, spreading my legs and resting one on each side of her. I thought of how much this would probably hurt her since the blood had dried and was surely scabbing under my torn shirt I had used.

I slowly started to remove it, dreading the part I knew was coming. As I got to the skin, I told Christine if she must she could squeeze my ankles. She gladly obliged. I could tell she tried not to make any noise but by the way my ankles felt, she was in pain.

I tossed the dirty shirt to the side and pulled out not the cream used for infection that had been provided in the box but my own mixture. I poured some on one of the rags and leaned forward.

"This may hurt, but my feet have not yet fallen off." I whispered in her ears.

She nodded and coughed out a sarcastic laugh.

I rubbed the cream into the hole in her shoulder, trying not to think about who I was helping. I still felt guilty for this incident.

When I finished I started wrapping the wound, trying to fight back a horrible urge building in the pit of my stomach.

After I finished wrapping her shoulder, she leaned back against my chest.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" I asked quietly, trailing my hands over her bare stomach and pressing my lips against her neck. She shook her head. "I suppose not."

I smiled. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. . . ." I started singing in her ear. "Lead me save me from my solitude."

I felt goose bumps on her arms from my cold hands on her stomach and my voice.

"Say you'll want me with you here beside you. Anywhere you go . . . let me go too."

"Love me, that's all I ask of you." she sang. I closed my eyes and savored the sound of the few blissful words she sang.

I recall in my lifetime resorting to substance use to fill the void I had inside. First with opium and then morphine for the fear of ruining my voice. But neither had satisfied the missing part of me.

I knew what had been missing. And I had found her.

Whilst I'm with her, nothing in the world matters. I almost forget of my grotesque face. . . .

"I love you, Christine Daaé." I whispered to the now sleeping angel in my arms.


	19. Chapter 18: An Unwanted Visitor

Chapter 18: An Unwanted Visitor

The next day I left Christine to sleep while I went out to retrieve the day's paper from a stand. I pulled the hood of my cloak over my mask. I took a carriage out into the town, dreading the rainy day it was. After purchasing the newspaper from the startled boy, I managed to find a floral stand and bought Christine a rose. As I walked through the rain, I pressed the petals to my nose, inhaling the enchanting scent of it.

I had always been fond of flowers. I had even had a garden at one point in my life. I chose not to think about that part of my life too much. I had been in a masonry apprenticeship with a man who let me stay in his cellar. I must say, his daughter was beautiful but too stubborn and nosey to be any good. My stay there ended in horrible tragedy.

I bit my lip at the memory and closed my eyes, willing the memory of the girl falling off the rooftop garden at the sight of my face to disappear. My mood had suddenly worsened and the rain had drenched me to the bone. My time there had bettered my skills as a mason and I had been sought out by the Daroga of Mazanderan Court and I had became a court assassin, magician, and personal engineer to the Persian Shah. I became responsible for the entertainment of the Khanum, the Shah's mother, and built sophisticated traps and torture devices for her amusement. In addition, I had been involved in the design and construction of a palace for the Shah, throughout that time I became involved in political affairs which made me a target for a poisoning attempt from which I had nearly died. Much of those years were personal hell for me which is when I became an opium addict from which I previously mentioned.

After construction of the palace was finished, the Shah feared that I knew too many of his personal secrets and, with the influence of the Khanum, arranged to have me arrested and put to death. Nadir, the Daroga, who had befriended me, helped me escape the guards. Upon our departure he had me swear to never kill out of delight again. I rarely broke my word but that one instance was an exception. I did have to show my place in the Opera House after all. As I hailed for a carriage to take me home, I felt a hand wrap around my wrist and I tensed.

"Sir, could you help me to hail a carriage? I am far too old and many carriages will not pick me up."

The familiar voice shocked me and I pulled my hand from the old man's grasp, getting in the cab. "To the Opera House." I said, closing the door. Moments later it opened and the man got in the cab with me.

"It just so happens that I, too, am headed to the opera house." the man said, sitting next to me and closing the door.

"Would you care to explain your uncalled rudeness, Erik?"

"I don't appreciate being assaulted in public, Nadir. You should know that by now." I said, pulling my hood off my head and glancing at the elder Persian sitting next to me.

"Age has been kind to you, Erik." he said leaning forward to examine my face.

"I wish I could say the same for you." I said coldly.

He sat silently, ignoring my comment. "Why is it you are headed the Opera House?" he asked.

"I believe that is none of your concern." I said, looking forward. I tapped on the driver's shoulder.

"This should be fine." I said, not caring about the several blocks I still had yet to walk in the wind and rain. I pulled my hood up over my mask again. "It was delightful seeing you again, Nadir. Truly, it was. But it would be best if you didn't look into seeing me again." I said before closing the door. I watched as he looked back at me as the carriage trotted on. I waited until he was out of view before pushing through the crowd to get back to the opera house.

As I walked through the passageways I dripped water everywhere. I pushed the wall aside and stepped into my lair. Christine sat at my desk, scribbling absently on a piece of paper. I tossed the wet paper and rose onto the desk and pulled my cloak off.

"We may be expecting a visitor." I growled at Christine, pulling my soaked tail coat off as well. A piece of my hair dangled wetly in my face, dropping water on my nose. I pulled my shirt off, hanging it up with my other dripping articles of clothing.

After finally discarding every wet article of clothing I had, excluding my pants, Christine walked over to me and wrapped a blanket around me. I felt slight fear in my chest that I would be discovered again.

"By who?" Christine asked fearfully, brushing the strand of hair out of my face. I knew she assumed it was Raoul.

"An old. . . . friend." I said before explaining to her my life in Asia.

"Oh. He didn't threaten you though. Why are you frightened?" she asked.

I shrugged and sat down in a high back chair. "It seems more and more people are discovering my whereabouts these days and I'm not very fond about it." I said bitterly. My mood had gone down the drain with the rain. I tried to retain my sour mood but it seemed I wasn't doing a good job.

"Thank you for the rose." Christine said, standing beside me and putting her warm hand on my cold shoulder. I could feel her warmth through the blanket and shivered slightly. Her wound seemed to be healing and she seemed well. I stood and let her sit in my chair, and I sat by her legs and leaned my head against her knee. I hugged her legs, my cold skin giving her goosebumps. I closed my eyes.

"Perhaps I am being childish." I said quietly, tracing my hand up and down her calf. "Even if he does track me back to the Opera House, there is hardly a chance he can find the entrances to my underground home."

Christine combed through my hair, her fingernails massaging my scalp. My drooping eyes deceived me as I struggled to stay awake.

We spent the rest of that day on edge, both of us expecting our unwanted guest. But he never came.

A few days later, I let Christine return to the above world, allowing her to perform. The authorities did not follow her down to my dungeons. We were both thankful for that. But the day of her first performance, a man followed her to her room, wanting to give her his congratulations. He heard my voice inside the room. That man was Nadir. He suspected me now, knowing a possible way to find me. But when Christine answered the door and he looked suspiciously around, he only found my profound absence.

That night as Christine slept soundly in my arms, I lay awake in anxiety.

I didn't get much sleep after that night and I constantly watched the portcullis. One day, during my obsessed search of the land outside of the gate, Christine came up behind me and turned me around. "You don't need to worry, Erik." she said, stroking my cheek. "He wouldn't dare come any further if he knew you as well as you say. He surely knows how clever you are." I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers.

"I assume you are right." I said with a sigh. "I'm sorry I've ignored you since I started my absurd worrying."

I cupped the back of her neck and stroked the small curls that were under my fingers. I pulled her face gently to mine as I pressed my lips against her, savoring the sensation. My eyebrows cinched together as my lips crushed urgently against hers. How I had managed to ignore her for so long was a mystery to me. She pulled away from my lips, panting slightly. My breath wasn't very even either. As she started to lean in again, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close.

"Christine. . . ." I whispered. I heard a small rock tumble outside and tensed immediately. The day had come. I turned quickly, Christine clutching my hand and arm.

Nadir stood on the other side of the portcullis, a look of horror and shock plastered on his face. "Erik." he said, looking from me to Christine then to the room around us. "Or should I say 'Opera Ghost'?"

"Nadir." I spat back.

We stood staring at each other in silence, Christine's grip tightening on my biceps and hand.

"Are you going to invite me in?" he said eventually.

"No." I grumbled. "I would much rather you left."

"Seeing as I am an old man and have learned my share of patience while I sat in jail for you, I can wait however long it may take."

I groaned slightly. When I moved to open the gate, Christine pulled me back.

"It's okay. I'll make sure you're safe. He shouldn't try anything." I whispered in her ear before kissing the side of her head. She let go and I opened the gate, allowing him to come in.

He walked straight towards Christine and I rushed to her side, pulling her tight against my side.

"What are you doing here, Nadir?" I demanded.

"It's been so long, Erik. And I have heard much of you."

My eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"The papers say much about the well renowned Opera Ghost. What is the matter with you, Erik? Terrorizing people for pleasure? And all these deaths at your hands! You swore."

I sighed. "It is only to show my place. You know as well as I that people need urging sometimes."

He scowled at me for a while and looked down at my left hand. He reached quickly for it, grabbing it and pushing up my sleeve. He saw my collapsed veins underneath my pale skin. "Erik, first opium, now morphine? What is wrong with you? This large of a dosage is surely killing you."

I jerked my arm back, pulling my sleeve down again. I briefly saw the look of horror on Christine's face. She didn't know. "My addiction has waned, Nadir. This results is that of many years ago."

"I see you've found yourself a beautiful woman. But really, Erik, Christine Daae?" he said looking at Christine. "Did you hypnotize her into loving you like you have hypnotized so many others to do your bidding?"

I started shaking. "You're out of line, Nadir." I growled. Christine felt my bodily tremors and held me tight, comforting me. "You have no place to accuse me of such a thing."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Before learning what I have learned of your history here, I would not have accused you. But I now do not know you as well as I once thought. I am a frequent visitor of the Opera House, Erik. I will be keeping an eye on you."

"Get out." I said.

"I see your attitude has not changed much, either." he said, raising his eyebrows at me. He thought of me an old friend yet his judgements had changed.

"Leave me be, Nadir. I do not enjoy your company, nor do I want it. It would be in your best interest if you left and did not return." I said, my sanity clinging to me in the form of Christine. If she had not been so desperately holding me, I would have easily lost myself.

"I will leave, for now. But this is not the last time you will see me." he said, looking at Christine before turning and walking towards the portcullis.

I opened it for him and watched impatiently as he left.

How many more enemies must I make before mankind learns to let me be?


	20. Chapter 19: Deadly Addictions

Chapter 19: Deadly Addictions

I awoke the next morning to find Christine eyeing my left arm with anxiety. I quickly pulled my arm away and pulled my sleeve down over it and rolled onto my side. So perhaps they weren't all old wounds. Addictions are hard to get over and for the sake of Christine, I had been trying. God knows how I've tried! I felt angry at Christine for being so curious. I absently rubbed at the most recent bruise I had inflicted. I felt guilty.

I felt her hand on my arm, tugging at my sleeve. "Please. . . ?"she begged. Why did she want to see something that caused her so much pain. I slowly released my arm and rolled back over onto my back. I watched as she pushed the sleeve back up and tears came to her eyes. She traced lightly over the bruises with her fingers as if she would hurt me by applying any pressure. After 20 years of filling my veins with morphine, my left hand had become rather numb. But I found the less I used the drug, the more feeling that returned. She found the newest bruise and stopped.

"I thought you said these were all old?" she stated quietly. I covered my face in shame with my right arm.

"Most of them are." I mumbled. Surely she would hate me now for lying to her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. I attempted to pull my arm away again but she held it tightly. I felt a surge of anger in my chest.

"Why, Erik?" she asked, raising her voice. Her every word was dripping in despair. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

I sat up quickly, my blood boiling. I grabbed her wrists harshly. "I thought I had it under control." I growled. "I have tried to quit, Christine. God, how I have tried!" My grip tightened on her wrists and she started to look rather frightened again. I loosened my grip on her wrists, ashamed of myself yet still angry. I got out of bed and started pacing, trying to keep my temper restrained. Christine, yes she was my angel and she did keep me sane. But how she angered me at times! My blood started boiling again. This is why I chose to use morphine. It kept me relaxed and helped me forget of the pain in my life. So why couldn't I stop now?

I rushed over to my desk and threw open the drawers, looking for one thing and one thing alone. I found the small bag that held the horrible needles I was so addicted to. I clenched my teeth together and reached into the bag, grabbing the nearest syringe. I squeezed it tightly in my hand, causing it to burst. I felt the glass cut into my hand, surfacing the memory of my fifth birthday. As I slowly lost myself, my breathing quickening, I threw the bag out at the portcullis and watched it sink. I still clutched the broken needle in my hand.

"Erik. . . ." I heard Christine say. I could hear her footsteps behind me.

"Don't come near me, Christine." I said, my body shaking. "Get away from here. Go back to your room in the opera house and don't come back. I'll return to you when I'm safe again." My body shook so much that I fell to the floor. My chest was screaming in agony and I knew exactly what was happening. But I didn't want Christine to watch while I lay on the ground, seizing. I knew morphine caused seizures. It wasn't the first one I had experienced, either. I tried desperately to control my shaking long enough for her to get out.

"Well?" I spat. "Why aren't you leaving?!" I turned my head and looked over my shoulder to see her standing feet away from me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I won't leave you." she said, twisting her hands together nervously. I could still sense her fear. My shaking started to worsen. I cradled my bleeding hand, which still refused to open, against my chest as I leaned forward, forming a tight ball to block out anything else. I knew it would be useless to fight with Christine. Soon my convulsions escalated to a height that I could no longer control them. I carefully lay down on my back, still holding my arm to my chest while my body shook uncontrollably.

"Oh my God!" I heard Christine scream as she ran to my side. "Erik! Erik what's wrong!?" I felt her pull me into her lap and I listened helplessly to her sobs until my seizing reduced to a mere trembling. My chest still hurt tremendously but I could at least control myself. I knew then that I had to stop. I had thrown away what supply I had left and I refused to buy any more. I was surprised I had even survived another seizure. I was ashamed of myself again. I opened my eyes and looked up at Christine.

"Are you okay?" she sobbed.

My eyebrows squeezed together as I was overwhelmed with sadness. "Yes, Christine. I'm fine now." I said quietly. She looked down at my hand which still grasped the syringe. Or what was left of it. She reached out to it, holding my bleeding hand in hers as she pried open my fingers, revealing shards of glass protruding from my palm and fingers. She looked back down at me, her eyes filled with sadness.

"Oh, Erik." she said. Holding my wrist firmly in her hand, she leaned down and pressed her trembling lips to my forehead. I reached up with my right hand and guided her head back down to my lips. I found I could hardly kiss her I was so out of breath.

"Can you sit up?" she asked, cradling my head. She slowly helped me sit up. I ignored the throbbing in my chest and head. I had to be okay. For my angel.

We slowly progressed until I was standing, my arm over her shoulders as she walked me over to my bed. She slowly let me down onto it and took off towards the lavatory.

She returned with a bowl of water, a small plate and bandages. She sat beside me and pulled a rag from the bowl and placed it on my head. The coolness of it soothed my aching head and I closed my eyes. I felt her hand cupping mine as she gently pulled the shards of glass out of my hand. I found the darkness behind my eyelids was comforting. I knew I shouldn't go to sleep. Not after what had just happened. But I was so damn tired.

I felt her gently tie the bandage around my palm and she entwined her fingers with mine. She kissed the back of my bandaged hand and leaned down and pressed her lips against mine. Her warmth brought me back out of my reverie and I opened my eyes to find hers right in front of me.

"I'm sorry. . . ." I said hoarsely. I wrapped my arms around her back, gently pulling her down to lay with me.

"I thought I was going to lose you. . . ." she said, quietly sobbing into my chest.

"I know." I said, squeezing her tightly. "But you also must remember, Christine, that I have an extraordinarily high tolerance for illness. And I couldn't possibly let myself leave this earth knowing I left you behind."

She was quiet and I could feel her tears through my shirt. "Please don't cry anymore, Christine. You know how it kills me." I gently combed through her hair. "I know I was an addicted fool. But I never fully saw the consequences. The losses. I would give up the world for you Christine."

When I took her hand in mine and brought it to my lips, I cringed. A perfectly shaped hand print bruise was wrapped around her wrist.

"It's rather silly, our relationship." I said, smiling slightly as I examined her hand. Her head shot up.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I manage to hurt you frequently and yet when I am in pain and rightfully deserve it, you rush to my side to try and help me. I'm so incredibly undeserving of you, Christine." I said, cupping her cheek.

"I'm not a very good help though." she said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Christine," I said, ignoring the pounding in my chest. "Your very presence keeps me alive. If that's the proper word to call this." I indicated my practically deteriorating body. I chuckled to myself. If only Javert could see how ironic his name for me had become.

"Promise me you won't do anything else stupid and reckless." she said, stroking my white mask.

"I swear to you Christine. I will never jeopardize our love again." I promised, tucking her hair back behind her ear. I clutched her to my chest and rolled over so my body was pressing her into the bed. "I love you too much to lose you." I whispered, leaning down and kissing her softly. I could feel her becoming impatient as my lips continued to lightly brush hers. I smiled each time she tried to deepen the kiss and every time I moved away.

"Oh, cut it out!" she said once, pushing against my chest. My face hovered above her and I laughed.

"Do I get anymore lessons?" she asked as I pushed myself off of her and lay beside her.

"Possibly. Here's a good one. You have to promise me never to sing if your throat shows any signs of hurting." I said.

"Why?" she asked, her hand going to her throat. I had brought up this subject because I had heard a little hoarseness in Christine's voice and knew that she had a performance in the near future. I smiled, her actions confirming my suspicions.

"It will ruin your voice, my dear." I said simply. "I don't want you under any circumstance singing when your voice is at risk."

"But the management will surely terminate my contract if I don't sing at this performance." she said with worry in her voice.

"Do not worry, Christine. Do you forget the hold I have upon the management? Surely they wouldn't dare to let my favorite performer go. I'll have to plan the utmost tragedy if such a thing shall occur." The throbbing in my chest was starting to subside to an annoying pulsating pain.

"But you can't do anything like that, remember? Nadir will be watching everything that goes on. If you. . . ." Christine cut herself off. She still didn't like the fact that I was quite the polished murderer.

"Well, we shall hope then that our managers aren't so careless." I said, ending the conversation.

"Wouldn't it just be easier if I sang?" Christine asked quietly.

"Not if it meant losing your voice for good. Do you want to lose your beautiful articulation?" I asked, caressing her throat.

She shook her head. "No, I guess not."

I smiled. "Neither do I."

She closed her eyes as I continued to caress her throat. I knew it was hurting her. She was most likely getting sick from being down in this freezing hell hole for so long. No matter how long she remained down here, she is not accustomed to the dark chills my home delivered.

_Maybe someday I can return to the surface with you, Christine. _I thought.


	21. Chapter 20: Deceit

**A/N: So the best thing to ever happen to me happened while I was in New York. I bought a backstage pass thing for Broadway Cares and I got to go backstage at the Majestic Theater after I saw Phantom of the Opera. First of all, the show was INCREDIBLE! Second of all, I GOT TO MEET FREAKING JOHN CUDIA! It was amazing. My life is officially complete and he is such a doll! He's really funny too. I got to meet Jennifer Hope Wills and Ryan Silverman. I had the time of my life. (: I cried I was so happy and John was like: AHH! DON'T CRY! Haha. He made me laugh so much. But I'll tell ya. That backstage pass thing was NOT the cheapest thing ever.(I went 3 days without money. It cost me my whole paycheck!) I love being a Journalist. (:**

Chapter 20: Deceit

Christine returned from her rehearsal the next day. I sat with my head in my hands, my elbows on the keys of my organ. She sat next to me in silence.

"I thought I told you not to be singing." I said, my voice muffled against my hands.

She remained silent. She was beginning to anger me once again.

"Christine." I said, lifting my head up. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. When I opened my eyes again I turned to see a look of pure horror on her face. "Christine!"

I held her face between my palms, terrified at her lack of reaction. I turned to straddle the bench and pulled her closer to me. "What happened?" Her eyes bore into mine, seeing and yet not seeing.

"I-I don't . . . know." she said quietly.

"Christine, please tell me what happened." I begged. Terror was slowly rising in me. As well as anger. I had a strong feeling that whatever happened involved one of my two active enemies. "Was it the Viscount?" I asked. She slowly shook her head. "Nadir?" She shook her head again.

"Well, then what the in the hell happened? Who did this to you?"

She stared off at the wall over my shoulder, her eyes unfocused. "Both."

Anger swelled up inside me, every feeling I had succumbing to it. I slammed my fist down on the keys of my organ, an ear splitting screech coming from the keys. Christine jumped, her eyes refocusing. "I'm fine! I promise you I am!" she said frantically, holding onto my forearms.

"DON'T . . . lie to me." I growled through my teeth, struggling to stay calm.

"At least listen to what happened before you go off and do something you might regret." she said, tugging on my arms now as I tried to stand up.

"NOW you want to talk!" I said, sitting back down. She held on tightly to my arms.

"They both stopped me as I walked back to the room. First it was Nadir. . . . he told me– warned me about you. He told me to run as far as I can and that I wasn't safe with you. He told me if I stayed with you I would meet an awful end."

My fists clenched on the fabric of my pants but I kept my facial expressions calm, not wanting to frighten Christine out of telling me the rest.

"And I told him he was a fool and hadn't the slightest idea of how you've changed. He called me naive and took my hand and started muttering something in some foreign language. I didn't understand. But I took my hand from his and ran."

My chest started to heave. What a deceitful old man! I took a deep shaky breath. "Go on."

"And right when I got to the door of the room, Raoul grabbed my arm and pulled me away from it. 'Don't go back down there.' he told me. He begged me to stay with him. He kept trying to force himself on me saying he could change my—"

I jerked my arms out of her grasp and stormed over to my armoire, knocking over any piece of furniture in my way. I reached for my pistol and sword, tying them to my waist. I felt Christine wrap her arms around me from behind. I threw my arm back, throwing her off of me. I heard her hit the ground, bile rising in my throat. Before I knew it I had the sword drawn and pointed at her.

"Stay away from me, Christine. Do not try and stop me." I hardly recognized my voice as my own. The last time I recalled being this angry was when Christine had deceived me in front of the whole Opera Populaire. "I have tolerated them long enough! And I'm FINISHED!" I shouted. I felt ashamed. I was threatening Christine! I tried regaining control of myself but the animal inside me raged on.

"Don't follow me. I will not have you getting in my way again." I heard her pleas bouncing off my back as my rage fueled me towards the house of the Opera Populaire. _Stop it! Control yourself!_ My mind shouted. It was as if I had lost control of my actions. For the first time in years, I prayed. I desperately hoped that I hadn't lost it for the last time. That I could somehow find myself again and stop the madness before it began.

And yet, I longed for the bloodshed. I hadn't killed for the sake of Christine. But, God, how I missed it! I could vaguely hear Christine's hurried footsteps behind me. It only fueled my need even more. I started to sprint up the long corridor that led to my personal box. I knew that Christine had no knowledge of this entrance.

I stepped quietly into the box and looked down below me. I saw Nadir, my target. My heart pounded in my ears. I hid in the shadows, watching and following him on the balcony above. I waited patiently like a stalking predator until the Daroga stepped outside into the darkness. I stepped quietly behind him and smiled as he stepped in the archway of an side street. I swiftly grabbed the man by his throat and threw him against the wall, reaching for my sword.

I let go of his throat, replacing my hand with the blade of my rapier.

"I had a strong feeling you would be coming after me." he said calmly. "Now you stand here to deceive the man who set you free? Saved your life?"

"Do not attempt to make me feel guilty, Nadir." I hissed. "The easiest way to be cheated, my dear Daroga, is to believe yourself to be more cunning than others. Did you think that I wouldn't find out what you did to Christine? I find that you have become quite foolish with age."

"I only helped the poor girl from what I knew was inevitable. I know your temper, Erik, and I know that girl has no chance against you should she anger you."

I pressed the tip of my sword against his neck. "It is a shame you don't truly remember the power of love, Nadir. Perhaps all these years and all of the women you have slept with has erased your memory of your deceased wife." I knew insulting his religion and speaking ill of his wife would provoke him. But what's a kill without a fight? "My love for her will prevent me from ever harming her the way you believe I will." The thought of the numerous accounts of me injuring Christine came to mind and my guilt almost overpowered my anger.

"You have no right to bring my religion and wife into this affair." he spat.

"Oh, but my dear friend, I believe I do. Seeing as you've not only involved my love but also tried to protect her against me. You claimed you were a friend to me. Yet after departing, I feel you have deeply changed your mind, correct?" I said, my voice devilishly calm. "Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, utters another. I must say it seems more truthful that you were the one who deceived me."

A small look of fear glistened in Nadir's eyes.

"You're going to kill me, here and now, even though I saved your life?"

"You also ruined it, Daroga. Those years of my life were _hell_! I plan to get revenge for it." My bandaged hand tightened on the sword.

"You were a genius. Now, you're just plain insane, Erik." Nadir said, his body starting to shake.

I laughed. "There's a fine line between genius and insanity, Nadir. I have long since erased this line."

As I swiftly pulled my sword back, the liquid pounding of my heart in my ears seemed to slow and increase in volume. I could almost see his heart under his skin. Yes, I so dearly wanted the man who tried blessing Christine dead.

I brought the sword forward, into his shoulder, missing his heart. Yes, I wanted him dead. Yet why did I intentionally miss?

"Consider yourself lucky, Nadir. Next time, I won't miss." I hissed quietly before pulling the sword out and wiping it on his clothes.

Raoul was next.

I silently and quickly made my way back to the Opera House. Surely Christine had found the man and warned him.

I stalked past the actors and managers. Not caring who saw me. The death of the Viscount would be put on my shoulders whether I had done it or not. As I approached Christine's dressing room, I heard the two conversing inside. My insides boiled.

"He's going to come for you Raoul." I heard Christine say. "I don't want to see you dead."

"Christine, if he's insane enough to kill someone over something so childish, can't you see how much of a danger he is? Please, come with me?" I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the Viscount's plea. I replaced my sword and took the pistol from my belt. I was not going to miss this time. I cocked it quietly. I noticed the room behind the door had become too quiet. I threw open the door and aimed my pistol where Raoul's voice had been coming from.

Instead of finding an armed man, I found the Viscount and the love of my life, locking lips. . . .


	22. Chapter 21: Forgiveness

Chapter 21: Forgiveness

The last thing I expected to see, in this room of our shared solitude, was the joining of their lips.

Is this how You answer the prayers of the pertinent, God?

Is this how You reward repentance and welcome home the prodigal son?

I hoped to hear Your voice, to somehow know there was a chance, and instead You choose to mock me with this, to show me that there truly is no divine intercession on my behalf, no mercy, no last little miracle. My infamous crimes have set me quite beyond the pale of Your forgiveness . . . all You wanted was vengeance upon me for those years of iniquitous blasphemy!

Well, now that You've had Your vengeance in full measure, are You satisfied? Are You satisfied, God?

My legs remained frozen to the ground, my hand dropped to my side, the grip on the pistol loosening. My heart seemed to stop as it hit the ground and the two broke apart, a look of pure horror on Christine's face.

Oh, yes, I believe in You. . . . I've always believed in You! You're so infinitely cold and cruel, You simply have to exist. I've seen enough of Your handiwork in my time, and it knocks my malice into palest insignificance by comparison. Floods and earthquakes, sickness and famine, crippled adults, mutilated children . . . and still we come like ingenuous fools to pray for Your help in time of need! It's laughable, really . . . quite pathetic! God is love! Hysterically funny! Say rather that God is an idle itinerant, too feckless to care what happens on an earth created for the soul purpose of providing amusement on a rainy day!

Christine started towards me, almost as if time had slowed. "NO!" I shouted at her. "You filthy little TRAMP!" Anguish filled every crevice of my being as I turned and ran from her. I ran to the highest point of the Opera Populaire. The roof.

I sat near the statue of Apollo with my legs sprawled out in front of me. I looked up desperately to the sky as tears fell down my face. I rested my hand on my pocket where a small lump was nestled. I had placed that item in my pocket earlier that day, hoping to give it to it's owner today.

"What were You doing all those months that I lay festering in my mother's womb? Were You perhaps in divine hibernation . . . taking a holiday . . . experimenting?" I yelled carelessly at the sky. "Well, whatever it was, You had a nasty shock when I appeared, didn't You? You didn't have the grace to admit You'd lost grip of things, nodded off for a moment and made a damned botch of it in consequence! We're not permitted to say that God makes mistakes, are we?—merely that He works in mysterious ways! Oh, God, what a charlatan you are! You're an amateur. . . . You never had any training, did You, never submitted You master's piece for inspection . . . never had any competition!"

I sobbed uncontrollably. "You couldn't bestir Yourself to help Your own Son when He cried out to You on the cross! So why should You care now about the crucifixion of a monster?"

When I had finished raving at the stars like a lunatic, there was silence once more across the zinc- and lead-lined roof. I knew everything now. The shells had fallen with relentless accuracy and blown my last feeble hope into oblivion.

I'd listened to his desperate plans for flight, watched him bend to claim her lovely, upturned mouth as though it was his God-given right. They had clung together like two frightened children abandoned in a dark wood, shoring up each other's confidence with protestations of loving trust.

Tonight, he is to take her away—far away to a place where I can never find her, where she can begin to forget what he calls her terrible ordeal, her intolerable burden.

And intolerable burden. . . .

You have brought me full circle, haven't You, God? Right back to that moment all those years ago when I had to run away.

Only, this time it's she who will run—run away from me as though I were some loathsome, slavering beast, an animal who can't be trusted to behave like a gentleman and do the decent thing.

She was just going to run away with him and never give me another thought. She must hate me very much to do that. Strange—I never guessed that she really hated me; I must have made a damned good actress of her in the course of her tuition!

I'd like to die now. Right now, this very minute! I'd welcome the last convulsion of this tired and sluggish muscle in my chest, but by some incredible irony, my heart is beating with curious serenity, as though it's never known a single moment's transgression.

So what are You up to God? What cruel perverse little jest have You left to play? Surely You're not going to inflict a miracle cure and deny me the right to be struck down after this!

You denied me life—will You deny me death too? Is that to be the punishment for my unspeakable crimes against humanity—another twenty years of penal solitude upon this earth?

Beneath my towering pinnacle Paris spreads out in all its splendor, a multitude of lights flickering along Haussmann's neatly regimented boulevards. Nothing could survive that dizzying drop. All they'd find would be a smashed red pulp in dress clothes, unrecognizable . . . unidentifiable. . . .

I have only to let go. . . .

Suicide . . . the ultimate sin, the one crime we are never given the opportunity to confess. Thieves and murderers may enter heaven, but the suicide, never receiving absolution, is unable to die in a state of grace and must burn forever.

So that's why You brought me up here, God! You thought I'd be stupid enough to fall into Your trap! One rash act of folly on my part and You would have been spared the loathsome necessity of gazing upon Your ugly miscreation throughout eternity!

Well . . . I don't need You. I never needed You! There is a greater Master yet, one who remains loyal, even to a backsliding apprentice . . . a Master who reminds me even now that my indentures to him were never broken . . . merely postponed.

I am not forsaken! I'm no longer alone in the darkness! Before my eyes I see thousands of little devils lighting black candles along the path which leads towards the edge . . . the blindingly beautiful edge.

Love is a scorpion's paralyzing poison, but now a thousand little mouths are sucking it steadily from my veins, emptying my mind and preparing a black void to receive the Master's presence. I feel the grief receding, dispersing beneath the rage which is mushrooming out inside me like some monstrous fungus. All the evil in the world has been let loose tonight, whipped up into a mighty cyclone and irresistibly directed toward the high peak of Apollo's lyre . . . drawn to my brain like lightning to a conductor.

A cold breeze stirs my cloak, sends it billowing out around me like the wings of the Angel of Death, as I lift my head slowly to look upon my Master's awesome power and hear his solemn praise.

_Beyond the edge there is no pain._

_Beyond the edge you will be reborn in the glory of darkness._

_Rise up and follow me. . . ._

As I stepped up onto the edge, I feel a set of warm hands wrap around me and pull me back. Rage quickly blinded me and I swung on the set of hands. Who would dare to stop me now!

I turned quickly to see none other than Christine, holding her bleeding forehead. The adrenaline seeped out of my pores as I looked at the woman in front of me.

"How dare you!" I said furiously.

"Why would you want to kill yourself?" she shouted back.

"Why the hell would you have to ask!? I think you should know!" She looked at me in astonishment.

"What are you—"

"Why did you do it, Christine?" I asked, my heart starting to break again. "_Why?"_

"He asked me. . . ." she said quietly.

"So if he asked you to elope with him, you would? If he asked you to leave all thought of me behind, you would?!"

"He said he would leave us be if he knew I still cared!" she shouted, tears running down her face.

Tears then came to my eyes, flowing freely. "So you show it by sharing an act of love with him?" I asked quietly.

She walked towards me and reached out to touch my cheek. I jerked my head back away from her.

"If it meant he would leave us in peace. . . ."

My body started to tremble. I felt slightly foolish. I saw the blood on Christine's lips and I started to reach up to wipe it away but stopped myself and dropped my hand and my head. My body had gone through so much emotional trauma tonight. It was a surprise I hadn't lost consciousness yet. All I wanted to do was forget everything.

"God helps those who help themselves, you know . . ." I said, dementia in my voice. "And if God can't be bothered, there's always Someone else who will. But generally speaking I've got rather used to shifting for myself. It was something my mother drummed into me very early. . . . I couldn't have been two when she began to refuse to fasten my buttons and tie the mask in place. I remember her throwing a pile of clothes at me one day in a temper—she had a terrible temper, Christine, I daresay that's where I get mine from—'Do it yourself!' she snapped. 'You're simply going to have to learn to do things for yourself!' I sat in my room all day because I couldn't fasten that bloody mask and I didn't dare go downstairs without it. Sasha would have helped me, if she could, but poor Sasha didn't know how to do it either. All she could do was lick the tears off my face. Dogs like tears, did you know that? I supposed it must be the salt. You'd think I wouldn't remember it, but I remember everything, _everything_. I was cursed with these extraordinary powers of recall, you see. . . . Sometimes I would have given anything simply to be able to forget, as other people do. . . ." I fell silent. I was delirious. Christine walked closer to me, causing me to back up to avoid her touch. I was ashamed of myself. I seemed to be doing rather reckless things recently.

I found myself pressed against the statute of Apollo as Christine continued to walk towards me. "Erik, please, _please_ don't be angry. . . ." she said quietly. I felt an electricity between us before her body pressed against mine, her arms wrapping around my waist. I flinched slightly, her touch feeling unfamiliar.

"Christine, please. . . ." I begged, tears starting to fall from my eyes again. She looked up at me, looking deep into my eyes. I slowly felt my love for her sinking back into my body. "Christine. . . ."

"Erik. . . ." Her eyes were pleading.

I was falling in love all over again. And now, I wanted nothing more than Christine.

"Kiss me. . . ." I whispered, leaning close to her face.

Her eyes lit up in happiness just before she urgently pressed her lips to mine. Never before had we shared such a kiss or embrace. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her as close to me as I could. I could taste salt on our lips but whether they were mine or Christine's is hard to tell.

"Oh, Christine. . . ." I sobbed. No matter how hard I attempted to speak, that was all that that could escape my lips.

"Erik, promise me you'll never leave me." she cried, as I lifted her feet off the ground and spun her around.

I sat her back on her feet and took her hand in mine. "I promise." I reached inside my pocket, pulled out the lump that was seemingly searing a hole into the fabric and placed it on Christine's finger. "As long as you promise."

Her knees gave out under her and she fell into me, sobbing and laughing. "Yes! Yes!"

I held her close to me and found myself laughing as well.

What a silly and complicated life I live!


	23. Chapter 22: Complications

Chapter 22: Complications

On our journey back to my underground home I held Christine's hand firmly in mine, rubbing the jeweled ring. How expensive that ring had been to obtain, yet it hardly left a scratch in my savings. But Christine was worth every ounce of my easily earned money and every second of my attention. After all, it was all that I could truly offer.

I dearly hoped that our being formally engaged would help me in the long run. I knew sooner or later my money would cease to help and so would my attention. Yes, she has my love but from what I've observed from many humans is that love is not always enough.

We stopped inside her dressing room and I took her hands in mine.

"Christine, my dear," I said, thinking about what I was about to say. I wondered if it was still a good idea. "With you by my side as my wife, I could take a stroll to the Boire with the pleasure of going without my mask."

She looked at me in disbelief. "Erik, are you sure?"

I brought her hands up before my lips. "I am quite sure, my love!" I said, my breath brushing against her knuckles. I pressed her hands to my lips. I held her hands in front of my face, looking at the ring, and smiled.

She pulled her left hand out of my grasp and spread her fingers in front of her, looking at the ring.

"It's so beautiful." she said.

"Yes, it is. However, it doesn't begin to compare to you." I said, placing my unoccupied hand on the side of her neck. "Our picture is one of serious dementia. Such a beautiful woman engaged to such a hideous creature. Satan himself surely painted the scene!"

I laughed and she smiled at my demented humor. "Our picture is our own. _We_ yield the brush." she said, surprising me with the power in her words. And then she smiled a little too deviously. "Now that we are engaged to be married, will you accept my request?"

I furrowed my brow, trying to recall what she was speaking of. When I remembered the horrible question I laughed nervously.

"Absolutely not, Christine!" I said, cupping her face. "I will not make love to you. I couldn't handle hurting you or burdening you with my hideous seed."

She frowned and reached up, cupping my face. I could feel her thumb caressing the smooth mask that covered my repulsive deformity. "Erik, if you can handle the pain of my several betrayals, you can surely handle the love we could create."

I smiled sadly, which quickly turned into a grimace. "That is where you are wrong, my dear." I said taking my hands off her and moving out of her touch. "Pain is my dominant emotion and my domain. I can handle any pain life may pitch at me. Love, in any form, overwhelms me. Being so physically and mentally bound may leave me too vulnerable to my psychotic mind and I fear I may lose myself and hurt you in anger. Too much feeling is my downfall and I have and always will avoid it at all cost."

Christine frowned.

"Don't perceive my silly trepidations to mean that I do not love you. Yes, Christine, I will say it. I lust for you more than you may think. But I am a living example of what may come from it and I absolutely refuse to give you the fate my mother had."

She continued to frown. I hated to admit it but the Viscount could give her beautiful infants. God did not have enough love and mercy to bless my life with a handsome child. I knew better than to expect such wonders.

"Is there a possibility?" Christine asked sadly.

"No, Christine."

Her frown turned into a scowl and she reached up and ripped the mask from my cheek. I did not flinch but merely glared coldly at her.

"This, Erik, is beautiful to me—"

"How stupid do you think I am, Christine? I know better than to believe such blasphemous lies!"

"A child that inherited this face would be more beautiful in my eyes than any normal babe would!" she shouted over me.

I found myself biting my lip and clenching my fists on the seams of my pants. I huffed slightly, my chest rising and falling angrily.

"Christine. You do not understand." I hissed. "It is such a selfish thing but it is more horrifying to me. Seeing such a distorted child! I cannot bear to look at my own face in the mirror! How could I possibly bring myself to look at the child and know it will have the same life to look forward to as I did! Please, Christine, understand and do not beg me for such horrors!"

The realization started to seep into her. "No, he wouldn't. He would have loving parents who were there for him." she said calmly.

"Who's to say I would love the little beast!" I said, throwing my hands in the air. "And what makes you so sure it would be male? Can you possibly imagine a little girl with such a hideous face!"

A quick look of horror crossed Christine's features before it disappeared being replaced with sorrow. "I'm sorry. . . ."

I sighed. "You're too beautiful to be sorry." I said, my emotion crossing back to compassion. I reached up to touch her cheek but jerked my hand back down to my side. I turned away from her, still bitter, and sat at her vanity and stared at my ugly face in her mirror. I despised it. She may say it is untrue but I know my face hinders our love. I sigh and hide my face in my hands.

I can feel Christine's presence getting closer. I can feel her hand reach out towards my shoulder. I immediately throw my hand back to block her. "Don't touch me." I spat. My anger was bubbling again.

"What is wrong?" she asked with hurt in her voice.

"I don't fully understand how you dote upon me like you do when I don't deserve it. My horribly disgusting face has to terrify you. I don't understand how you can bear to look at me! It's frustrating. I try to think of why you chose me instead of your Viscount but I always just give up with a splitting headache. What do I have that can possibly outweigh the many joys he can give you? How can you love me, Christine? Besides my music, what have I to offer you?" I pried my hand away from my distorted cheek and turned to look at her, falling to my knees on the ground between us.

I saw her compassion and drowned in her sorrow. "I love you for you. Who you are. You give me your love and protection." she bent down to touch my face but I abruptly turned my head away from her touch. "And I unconditionally love you, Erik." she sighs.

"You shouldn't." I growled, bowing my head so as not to look at her.

"Fine." she hissed. I heard a little cling against the floor and I knew what had just happened. My heart shredded in two as I heard the door slam and the delicate ring bounced into my view. I grasped it tightly in my shaking hand.

It wasn't too much feeling that would be my downfall but my lack of it thereof. My anger. I turned towards the door, picked up my mask from the floor and followed Christine's footsteps, anger seeping through my veins once more. Red rimmed my vision as I lurked through the shadows. I followed Christine until I had the chance to pull her into the shadows with me. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into me.

"How rude of you to walk out on me like you did." I said quietly. She gasped slightly in shock and fear. I smiled manically and turned it to a scowl within a single second. "Do not think it will happen again, my angel." I growled, pulling her into a passage of mine. She tugged viciously on my arm.

"And you don't find it rude to be pulling me so roughly?" she asked, her voice dripping with attitude. I stopped and pulled her into me.

"Would you prefer I drag you?" I hissed, my breath bouncing off the contours of her face.

Upon arriving at my 'house' I shoved her into the room I had made as I guest room. Why I had made it? Boredom, perhaps. I would obviously not have any guests.

"Good night, Christine." I spat, throwing the ring on the floor and slamming the door.

I sat down at my desk and rubbed my temples as I looked over the papers that lay in front of me. I grabbed my lead and started sketching furiously, not knowing yet what I was creating.

After what was surely hours, I felt a hand on my shoulder causing every muscle in my body to constrict. The hand gently tugged on me, turning me to face it's owner. I looked up into Christine's solemn face.

"Why do you disturb me?" I asked warily. I was tired of emotion. I watched with narrowed eyes as she walked around my leg and stood before me. As she started to sit on my lap I tensed and actually held my breath. She draped her legs over my other leg and leaned her head into the base of my neck.

"I am sorry." she mumbled against my skin.

"Christine. . . ." I groaned, shoving at her legs to try and remove her. This was already starting to progress further than was comfortable for me. I knew where this would head if I let it unwind. She wrapped her arms around me, clinging to my back. I sighed in defeat and took her hand off my back and held it lightly in mine. Her warm skin felt inviting in my cold hand. I closed my eyes and buried my face in her hair as I started to pull my fingers through her curls.

"I am sorry." I said into her scalp. "I overreacted. I pray I didn't offend you. . . ."

Her thumb massaged the back of my hand. "You didn't. I just wish you could understand. . . ."

I take a deep breath to maintain my bearings. "I know what you want Christine and I understand. But you must understand how much that baby would kill me if it were ugly. . . . I do not wish such harm upon any being and I wouldn't dare to want it for my child." Saying that phrase didn't feel right in my mouth. I had never expected to be, well, now formerly engaged, let alone have a child of my own. I know even if I did give in to her request, I could never please Christine like any other man could.

I was a savage, a vagabond. A monster . . . and murderer. I didn't wish that fate for her either. But I was exhausted and finished trying to convince her of such things and I was now trying to fully accept it. She claims she is happy here and I shall believe it. Eventually.

I pressed my lips against her hair before removing my face. "It is late, my dear." I hook my arm under her legs and cradle her to my chest as I stand to take her to her room. With the subject of too much intimacy hanging in the air, I found it dangerous if we slept together tonight. Perhaps it would help dull both our wants if she continued to sleep apart from myself.

I set her gently on the bed, retreating immediately so not to linger.

"Please don't leave." she said, sitting up. I was at her side once more, gently guiding her back down to the sheets.

"Please, sleep, Christine." I said, kneeling next to her bed. She reached towards my face, stroking her fingers against my open cheek. She looked at the mask and glared at it. I knew she hated my wearing it but I felt somewhat safer with it on. Her fingers guided their way back into my hair, pulling my face forward. I knew better than to try and deny her again so I sat lifeless and tense as she pressed her lips to mine. After sensing my refusal to react, she pulled away and lay on the sheets. I stood, trying to push her hurt expression out of my head.

"Good night." I say, walking out of the room as quickly as I can.

I sat as my desk once more and looked at the jumbled sketch I had drawn. It was hideous, no doubt with sharp and unnecessary edges. I crumpled it up.

It had been hours since I had left Christine alone and I was starting to feel more alone now than I ever had. I needed to talk to Christine about our difficult situation. She had gotten over her fear of me, maybe it was time I conquered my fears for her. I sighed and stood up, walking quietly over to her door. I knocked gently. "Christine?"

I heard a rustling in the room. I waited for a respond but got nothing. I slowly opened the door and saw Christine curled under the bed clothes. I swiftly walked to her bedside and took a seat in a chair across the room. I watched as she slept so serenely. I longed to have the peace she had in this moment. Not even sleep could grant me such a thing. I fell deep into thought and didn't hear the shuffling of the covers as Christine woke and rolled to look at me.

"Erik?" she asked quietly. I jumped slightly and gripped the armrests at the sudden noise. I stood and walked carefully over to her bedside and knelt beside it again, my face level with hers. "Lay with me?" she asked.

I sighed. I could see in her eyes she expected me to deny her. I nodded slowly and she moved to make room for me, astonished by my decision. I climbed under the warm covers, the heat almost uncomfortable. I lay on my side, facing her.

"Thank you." she said, reaching up and pressing her lips on my forehead. I closed my eyes and waited patiently while she pulled off my mask. She kissed what seemed like every inch of my face. Excluding my lips. It worried me as she pulled away and looked at me tenderly. I was curious as to why she didn't. But I recalled the last time we kissed. I had been unresponsive. Of course she wouldn't want to be denied again.

I cupped the back of her head tenderly, pulling her face to mine and pressing my lips against hers. Her hands caressed my shoulders and my chest as I basked in the softness of her lips.

My hands were all over her but never touching her. I caressed the air around her, afraid to make contact. I finally gave up and pressed my hands against her back, feeling the silky ribbon of the corset on her dress.

My hands were unusually clumsy and they shook horribly. I could feel Christine tense up in my arms.

"Tell me to stop and I will stop." I said, tugging on the ribbon. As the silky material slid effortlessly against itself and came untied, Christine remained silent.

I started to kiss her jaw and felt her hands press against my chest. "Stop. . . ." she said breathlessly. My heart dropped.

"Not yet." she said, looking into my eyes.

"Whenever you are ready, I will be too. I will do anything to make Christine happy." I said, stroking her cheek. She closed her eyes. "But for now, I must think of Christine's health and I think she needs rest."

She opened her eyes as I started to climb out of the bed. "Don't leave." she said, tugging at my sleeve. "Will you please stay?" she asked. I smiled at her silhouette. She looked a mess but was still heart breakingly beautiful. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I will stay." I whisper, pulling the chair next to the bed. I sit and watch her but notice she's not falling asleep. "Christine, when people sleep they close their eyes."

I saw her hand reach out and I took it gently in mine. "Go to sleep, my love."

She slowly closed her eyes and smiled at me.

I softly sang her to sleep, noticing something that made my heart jump.

She had put the ring back on her finger. I smiled slightly before leaning my head against the wall and falling into a light slumber as well.


End file.
